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THE    POEMS 


OF 


JOHN    GODFREY    SAXE, 


COMPLETE   IN   ONE   VOLUME. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES    R.   ORGOOD    AND    COMPANY, 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSOOOD,  &  CO. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


T.UKTY-SEVUmi    EDITIOJi. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 


WILLIAM    CASSIDY,    ESQ., 


AS   A   SLIGHT    TRIBUTE   TO    HIS 


ELEGANT     SCHOLARSHIP, 


AND     IN     GRATEFUL     RECOGNITION     OF     HIS 


PERSONAL    FRIENDSHIP, 


THIS   VOLUME    IS   RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED    BY 


THE   AUTHOR. 


PUBLISHERS'   ADVERTISEMENT. 

THIS  volume  comprises  all  of  Mr.  Saxe's  poems 
hitherto  published,  and  some  fifty  new  pieces. 
The  favor  accorded  to  the  separate  volumes  (the 
oldest  of  which  has  reached  the  extraordinary  sale 
of  thirty-three  editions)  induces  the  belief  that  this 
enlarged  and  complete  edition  of  Mr.  Saxe's  poems 
will  be  an  acceptable  offering  to  the  public. 


CONTENTS. 


POEMS. 

Page 

THE  POET'S  LICENSE .3 

TREASURE  IN  HEAVEN    .........  5 

I  'M  GROWING  OLD 6 

THE  STORY  OF  LIFB 7 

MY  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN 9 

SPES  EST  VATES 10 

THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  GODS n 

,  THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL 13 

COMPENSATION 17 

THE  OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO      • 18 

MAXIMILIAN 20 

WISHING 21 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD 23 

A  POET'S  ELEGY 24 

THE   MOURNER  A  LA  MODE 26 

THE  EXPECTED  SHIP        .........  28 

THE  HEAD  AND  THE  HEART 29 

THE  PROUD  Miss  MACBRIDK 30 

THE  MASQUERADE 42 

MY  FAMILIAR 51 

LOVE  AND  LAW 53 

RHYME  OF  THE  RAIL 57 

THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER         ........  60 

LITTLE  JERRY,  THE  MILLER 62 

How  CYRUS  LAID  THE  CABLE 64 

WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  THE  GODS 66 

THE  COLD-WATER  MAN :  69 

COMIC  MISERIES 71 

A  CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE 74 

SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES 76 

BOYS 79 

THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN So 


viii  CONTENTS. 

TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES 82 

GIRLHOOD 84 

THE  COCKNEY 85 

CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE 87 

MIRALDA 97 

LE  JARDIN  MABILE 103 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON 105 

WHEN  I  MEAN  TO  MARRY 108 

A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT 109 

THE  KNOWING  CHILD 112 

IDEAL  AND  REAL 114 

THE  GAME  OF  LIFE 116 

THE  PUZZLED  CENSUS-TAKER 118 

THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER 119 

ABOUT  HUSBANDS 120 

WHERE  THERE'S  A  WILL  THERE'S  A  WAY 122 

A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR 123 

THE  GHOST-PLAYER 127 

"Do  YOU  THINK  HE  IS  MARRIED?" 129 

A  COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE 130 

'EARLY  RISING 133 

THE  LADY  ANN 135 

How  THE  MONEY  GOES 138 

SAINT  JONATHAN         . 139 

SONG  OF  SARATOGA 142 

TALE  OF  A  DOG 143 

THE  JOLLY  MARINER 147 

TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM 150 

YE  TAILYOR-MAN 158 

THE  DEVIL  OF  NAMES 159 

YE  PEDAGOGUE 164 

THE  STAMMERING  WIFE 166 

A  RHYMED  EPISTLE 167 

TOWN  AND  COUNTRY 170 

THE  FAMILY  MAN 173 

THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS 174 

NE  CREDE  COLORI 177 

CLARA  TO  CLOE ,  178 

CI.OE  TO  CLARA 180 

THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN 182 

THE  BLARNEY  STONE 184 

ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 186 

NIL  ADMIRARI 187 

THE  COQUETTE 189 


CONTENTS.  IX 

CARMEN  L^ETUM 191 

MY  BOYHOOD 195 

POST-PRANDIAL  VERSES 197 

THE  SILVER  WEDDING 199 

THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW 200 

AUGUSTA 201 

ROGER  BONTEMPS 201 

THE  KING  OF  NORMANDY 203 

THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID 205 

THE  DINNER 207 

FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE 209 

THE  BEST  OF  HUSBANDS 210 

LOVE    POEMS. 

WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE  TO  KNOW? 213 

THE  LOVER'S  VISION 215 

THE  OATH 216 

UNREST 217 

To  MY  LOVE 218 

To  LESBIA 219 

MY  SAXON  BLONDE 220 

DARLING,  TELL  ME  YES 221 

TIME  AND  LOVE 222 

LOVE'S  CALENDAR  . 


224 

THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE 225 

A  REASONABLE  PETITION 226 

THE  CHAPEL  OF  Two  SAINTS 227 

THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE  LAWYER 228 

DRINKING  SONG 22g 

EGO  ET  ECHO 231 

THE  MAIDEN  TO  THE  MOON 233 

DAISY  DAY 234 

To  A  BEAUTIFUL  STRANGER 235 

A  PHILOSOPHICAL  QUERY 236 

LIP-SERVICE 237 

FAIRY  TALES,   LEGENDS,  AND  APOLOGUES. 

FATHER  PUMPKIN  ;  OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK 341 

THE  KING  AND  THE  COTTAGER 248 

THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTHWIND 254 

THE  BLIND  MEN  AND  THE  ELEPHANT 259 

THE  TREASURE  OF  GOLD 261 

THE  NOBLEMAN,  THE  FISHERMAN,  AND  THE  PORTER      .        .  266 


X  CONTENTS. 

THE  DERVIS  AND  THE  KING 269 

THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS 271 

THE  CALIPH  AND  THE  CRIPPLE 276 

THE  UGLY  AUNT 281 

THE  THREE  GIFTS 286 

THE  WIFE'S  REVENGE 290 

THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES 296 

RAMPSINITUS  AND  THE  ROBBERS 299 

POOR  TARTAR 307 

THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES 309 

THE  WANDERING  JEW 312 

THE  THREE  GOOD  DAYS 316 

.THE  STORY  OF  ECHO 318 

A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE 320 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  WINE 322 

THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS 324 

KING  SOLOMON  AND  THE  BEES 332 

THE  Pious  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS  ....  335 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  NICK  VAN  STANN 338 

-THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER 340 

How  THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK 345 

DEATH  AND  CUPID 347 

LOVE  AND  LUCRE 348 

WISDOM  AND  CUNNING 350 

THE  SULTAN  AND  THE  OWLS 352 

THE  PIN  AND  THE  NEEDLE 354 

BEN-AMMI  AND  THE  FAIRIES 356 

THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER-CARRIER 361 

THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  ADVISERS 364 

MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE 366 

SATIRES. 

PROGRESS 371 

THE  MONEY-KING 386 

EXCERPTS  FROM   OCCASIONAL  POEMS. 

F.L  DORADO 401 

THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING 402 

THE  POWER-PRESS 403 

THE  LIBRARY 404 

THE  NEWS 405 

THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM 406 


CONTENTS.  xi 


TRAVESTIES. 

ICARUS 411 

PYRAMUS  AND  THISBE 414 

THE  CHOICE  OF  KING  MIDAS 418 

PHAETHON 421 

POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES 424 

ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 427 

JUPITER  AND  DANAE 431 

VENUS  AND  VULCAN .  432 

RICHARD  OF  GLOSTER 434 

OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR 440 

SONNETS. 

PAN  IMMORTAL 447 

THE  BEAUTIFUL .  448 

BEREAVEMENT 448 

To  MY  WIFE  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 449 

To  SPRING 4l> 

THE  VICTIM i 450 

To  450 

To  A  CLAM 451 

THE  PORTRAIT 451 

EPIGRAMS. 

THE  EXPLANATION 455 

FAMILY  QUARRELS 455 

TEACHING  BY  EXAMPLE 456 

A  COMMON  ALTERNATIVE  .........  456 

A  PLAIN  CASE 456 

OVER-CANDID 457 

NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 457- 

AN  EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY 457 

ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER 458 

ON  A  RECENT  CLASSIC  CONTROVERSY 458 

Lucus  A  NON 458 

A  CANDID  CANDIDATE 459 

NEMO   REPENTE   TURPISSIMUS 459 

Too  CANDID  BY  HALF 459 

CONJURGIUM  NON  CoNJUGIUM 460 

CHEAP  ENOUGH 460 

ON  AN  UGLY  PERSON  SITTING  FOR  A  DAGUERREOTYPE   .        .  460 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


ON  A  FAMOUS  WATER-SUIT 460 

KISSING  CASUISTRY 461 

To  A  POETICAL  CORRESPONDENT 461 

ON  A  LONG-WINDED  ORATOR        .......  461 

THE  LOST  CHARACTER      .        . 462 

A  DILEMMA     ...........  462 

THE  THREE  WIVES 462 

LATER  POEMS. 

HERCULES  SPINNING 465 

HASSAN  AND  THE  ANGEL 467 

LOOKING  OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT 468 

A  SUMMER  SCENE  ..........  469 

HOW  IT  HAPPENED 470 

EXAUDI  ANGELUS 472 

CARL  AND  I 473 

Do  1  LOVE  THEE  ? .       .       . 474 

THE  LOVER'S  CONFESSION 474 

DE  MUSA 475 

MOTHERS-IN-LAW        ...' 477 

THE  POET  TO  HIS  GARRET 478 

SONNETS. 

SOMEWHERE 480 

CHANGE  NOT  Loss  .........  480 

A  LA  PENSEB 481 

ABSENCE 481 

BIENVENUE 482 

AQUINAS  AND  THE  BISHOP 483 


NOTES 485 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE    POET'S    LICENSE. 


*  I  ''HE  Poet's  License  !  —  Some  there  are 
-*-      Who  hold  the  false  opinion 
'T  is  but  a  meagre  privilege 

Confined  to  Art's  dominion  ; 
The  right  to  rhyme  quite  unrestrained 

By  certain  rigid  fetters 
Which  bind  the  colder  men  of  prose 

Within  the  realm  of  letters. 

Ah  no  !  —  I  deem  't  is  something  more, 

And  something  vastly  higher, 
To  which  the  proudest  bard  on  earth 

May  worthily  aspire. 
The  Poet's  License  !  —  't  is  the  right, 

Within  the  rule  of  duty, 
To  look  on  all  delightful  things 

Throughout  the  world  of  beauty. 


THE  POETS  LICENSE. 

To  gaze  with  rapture  at  the  stars 

That  in  the  skies  are  glowing ; 
To  see  the  gems  of  perfect  dye 

That  in  the  woods  are  growing,  — 
And  more  than  sage  astronomer, 

And  more  than  learned  florist, 
To  read  the  glorious  homilies 

Of  Firmament  and  Forest. 

When  Nature  gives  a  gorgeous  rose, 

Or  yields  the  simplest  fern, 
She  writes  this  motto  on  the  leaves,  — 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern  !  " 
And  so  it  is  the  poet  comes 

And  revels  in  her  bowers, 
And,  though  another  hold  the  land, 

Is  owner  of  the  flowers. 

O  nevermore  let  Ignorance 

With  heedless  iteration 
Repeat  the  phrase  as  meaning  aught 

Of  trivial  estimation ; 
The  Poet's  License  !  — 't  is  the  fee 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  river 
To  him  who  views  them  royally, 

To  have  and  hold  forever  ! 


TREASURE  IN  HE  A  VEN. 
TREASURE    IN    HEAVEN. 

RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  GEORGE  PEABODY,  ESQ. 

"  What  I  spent,  I  had ;  what  I  kept, 
I  lost ;  what  I  gave,  I  have  ! " 

OLD  EPITAPH. 

I. 

T? VERY  coin  of  earthly  treasure 
•*— •*     We  have  lavished,  upon  earth, 
For  our  simple  worldly  pleasure, 

May  be  reckoned  something  worth  ; 
For  the  spending  was  not  losing, 

Though  the  purchase  were  but  small ; 
It  has  perished  with  the  using  ; 
We  have  had  it,  —  that  is  all ! 

II. 

All  the  gold  we  leave  behind  us 

When  we  turn  to  dust  again 
(Though  our  avarice  may  blind  us), 

We  have  gathered  quite  in  vain  ; 
Since  we  neither  can  direct  it, 

By  the  winds  of  fortune  tossed, 
Nor  in  other  worlds  expect  it ; 

What  we  hoarded,  we  have  lost. 

III. 
But  each  merciful  oblation  — 

(Seed  of  pity  wisely  sown), 
What  we  gave  in  self-negation, 

We  may  safely  call  our  own  ; 


I'M  GROWING   OLD. 

For  the  treasure  freely  given 
Is  the  treasure  that  we  hoard, 

Since  the  angels  keep  in  Heaven 
What  is  lent  unto  the  Lord  ! 


I'M    GROWING    OLD. 

MY  days  pass  pleasantly  away  ; 
My  nights  are  blest  with  sweetest  sleep  ; 
I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay ; 

I  have  no  cause  to  mourn  nor  weep  ; 
My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy ; 

My  friends  are  neither  false  nor  cold, 
And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh,  — 

I  'm  growing  old  ! 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My  growing  thirst  for  early  news, 

My  growing  apathy  to  rhymes, 
My  growing  love  of  easy  shoes, 

My  growing  hate  of  crowds  and  noise, 
My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  whisper,  in  the  plainest  voice, 

I  'm  growing  old  ! 

I  'm  growing  fonder  of  my  staff; 

I  'm  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes  ; 
I  'm  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh  ; 

I  'm  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs  ; 
I  'm  growing  careless  of  my  dress  ; 

I  'm  growing  frugal  of  my  gold ; 
I  'm  growing  wise  ;  I  'm  growing,  —  yes,  — 
I  'm  growing  old  ! 


THE  STORY  OF  LIFE. 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  taste  ; 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  hair ; 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  waist ; 

I  see  it  in  my  growing  heir ; 
A  thousand  signs  proclaim  the  truth, 

As  plain  as  truth  was  ever  told, 
That,  even  in  my  vaunted  youth, 

I  'm  growing  old  ! 

Ah  me  !  —  my  very  laurels  breathe 

The  tale  in  my  reluctant  ears, 
And  every  boon  the  Hours  bequeath 

But  makes  me  debtor  to  the  Years ! 
E'en  Flattery's  honeyed  words  declare 

The  secret  she  would  fain  withhold, 
And  tells  me  in  "  How  young  you  are  !  " 
I  'm  growing  old  ! 

Thanks  for  the  years  !  —  whose  rapid  flight 
My  sombre  Muse  too  sadly  sings  ; 

Thanks  for  the  gleams  of  golden  light 
That  tint  the  darkness  of  their  wings  ; 

The  light  that  beams  from  out  the  sky, 
Those  heavenly  mansions  to  unfold 

Where  all  are  blest,  and  none  may  sigh, 
".I  'm  growing  old  !  " 


THE    STORY    OF    LIFE. 

AY,  what  is  life  ?     'T  is  to  be  born  ; 
A  helpless  Babe,  to  greet  the  light 
With  a  sharp  wail,  as  if  the  morn 
Foretold  a  cloudy  noon  and  night ; 


THE  STORY  OF  LIFE. 

To  weep,  to  sleep,  and  weep  again, 
With  sunny  smiles  between  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then  apace  the  infant  grows 
To  be  a  laughing,  puling  boy, 

Happy,  despite  his  little  woes, 

Were  he  but  conscious  of  his  joy ; 

To  be,  in  short,  from  two  to  ten, 

A  merry,  moody  Child;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  in  coat  and  trousers  clad, 
To  learn  to  say  the  Decalogue, 

And  break  it ;  an  unthinking  Lad, 
With  mirth  and  mischief  all  agog ; 

A  truant  oft  by  field  and  fen 

To  capture  butterflies  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  increased  in  strength  and  size, 
To  be,  anon,  a  Yoiith  full-grown ; 

A  hero  in  his  mother's  eyes, 
A  young  Apollo  in  his  own ; 

To  imitate  the  ways  of  men 

In  fashionable  sins  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  at  last,  to  be  a  Man; 

To  fall  in  love  ;  to  woo  and  wed ; 
With  seething  brain  to  scheme  and  plan ; 

To  gather  gold,  or  toil  for  bread  ; 
To  sue  for  fame  with  tongue  or  pen, 
And  gain  or  lose  the  prize  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then  in  gray  and  wrinkled  Eld 
To  mourn  the  speed  of  life's  decline  ; 

To  praise  the  scenes  his  youth  beheld, 
And  dwell  in  memory  of  Lang-Syne  ; 

To  dream  awhile  with  darkened  ken, 

Then  drop  into  his  grave  ;  and  then  ? 


CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


MY    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN. 

r  I  ^HERE  's  a  castle  in  Spain,  very  charming  to  see, 
-*-       Though  built  without  money  or  toil ; 
Of  this  handsome  estate  I  am  owner  in  fee, 

And  paramount  lord  of  the  soil ; 
And  oft  as  I  may  I  'm  accustomed  to  go 
And  live,  like  a  king,  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

There  's  a  dame  most  bewitchingly  rounded  and  ripe, 

Whose  wishes  are  never  absurd  ; 
Who  does  n't  object  to  my  smoking  a  pipe, 

Nor  insist  on  the  ultimate  word  ; 
In  short,  she  's  the  pink  of  perfection,  you  know  ; 
And  she  lives,  like  a  queen,  in  my  Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  Ve  a  family  too  ;  the  delightfulest  girls, 

And  a  bevy  of  beautiful  boys  ; 
All  quite  the  reverse  of  those  juvenile  churls 

Whose  pleasure  is  mischief  and  noise  ; 
No  modern  Cornelia  might  venture  to  show 
Such  jewels  as  those  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

I  have  servants  who  seek  their  contentment  in  mine, 

And  always  mind  what  they  are  at ; 
Who  never  embezzle  the  sugar  and  wine, 

And  slander  the  innocent  cat ; 
Neither  saucy,  nor  careless,  nor  stupidly  slow 
Are  the  servants  who  wait  in  my  Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  have  pleasant  companions  ;  most  affable  folk  ; 
And  each  with  the  heart  of  a  brother ; 


10  SPES  EST  VATES. 

Keen  wits,  who  enjoy  an  antagonist's  joke, 

And  beauties  who  're  fond  of  each  other ; 
Such  people,  indeed,  as  you  never  may  know, 
Unless  you  should  come  to  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

I  have  friends,  whose  commission  for  wearing  the  name 

In  kindness  unfailing  is  shown  ; 
Who  pay  to  another  the  duty  they  claim, 

And  deem  his  successes  their  own  ; 
Who  joy  in  his  gladness,  and  weep  at  his  woe  ; 
You  '11  find  them  (where  else  ?)  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

"  O  si  sic  semper  !  "  I  oftentimes  say, 
(Though  't  is  idle,  I  know,  to  complain,) 

To  think  that  again  I  must  force  me  away 
From  my  beautiful  castle  in  Spain  ! 

Ah  !  would  that  my  stars  had  determined  it  so 

I  might  live  the  year  round  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 


SPES    EST    VATES. 

'  I  "HERE  is  a  saying  of  the  ancient  sages : 
•*-       No  noble  human  thought, 
However  buried  in  the  dust  of  ages, 
Can  ever  come  to  naught. 

With  kindred  faith,  that  knows  no  base  dejection, 

Beyond  the  sages'  scope 
I  see,  afar,  the  final  resurrection 

Of  every  glorious  hope. 


THE   GIFTS  OF  THE   GODS. 

I  see,  as  parcel  of  a  new  creation, 

The  beatific  hour 
When  every  bud  of  lofty  aspiration 

Shall  blossom  into  flower. 

We  are  not  mocked  ;  it  was  not  in  derision 

God  made  our  spirits  free  ; 
The  poet's  dreams  are  but  the  dim  prevision 

Of  blessings  that  shall  be,  — 

When  they  who  lovingly  have  hoped  and  trusted, 

Despite  some  transient  fears, 
Shall  see  Life's  jarring  elements  adjusted, 

And  rounded  into  spheres  ! 


THE    GIFTS    OF    THE    GODS. 

THE  saying  is  wise,  though  it  sounds  like  a  jest, 
That  "  The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be  in  their 

debt," 

For  though  we  may  think  we  are  specially  blest, 
We  are  certain  to  pay  for  the  favors  we  get ! 

Are  Riches  the  boon  ?     Nay,  be  not  elate  ; 

The  final  account  is  n't  settled  as  yet ; 
Old  Care  has  a  mortgage  on  every  estate, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  wealth  that  you  get ! 

Is  Honor  the  prize  ? '   It  were  easy  to  name 
What  sorrows  and  perils  her  pathway  beset ; 

Grim  Hate  and  Detraction  accompany  Fame, 
And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  honor  you  get ! 


12  THE   GIFTS  OF  THE   GODS. 

Is  Learning  a  treasure?     How  charming  the  pair 
When  Talent  and  Culture  are  lovingly  met ; 

But  Labor  unceasing  is  grievous  to  bear, 
And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  learning  you  get ! 

Is  Genius  worth  having  ?     There  is  n't  a  doubt ; 

And  yet  what  a  price  on  the  blessing  is  set,  — 
To  suffer  more  with  it  than  dunces  without, 

For  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  genius  you  get ! 

Is  Beauty  a  blessing  ?     To  have  it  for  naught 
The  gods  never  grant  to  their  veriest  pet ; 

Pale  Envy  reminds  you  the  jewel  is  bought, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  beauty  you  get ! 

But  Pleasure  ?     Alas  !  —  how  prolific  of  pain  ! 

Gay  Pleasure  is  followed  by  gloomy  Regret ; 
And  often  Repentance  is  one  of  her  train, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  pleasure  you  get ! 

But  surely  in  Friendship  we  all  may  secure 
An  excellent  gift ;  never  doubt  it,  —  and  yet 

With  much  to  enjoy  there  is  much  to  endure, 

And  that's  what  we  pay  for  the  friendship  we  get ! 

But  then  there  is  Love  ?  —  Nay,  speak  not  too  soon  ; 

The  fondest  of  hearts  may  have  reason  to  fret ; 
For  Fear  and  Bereavement  attend  on  the  boon, 

And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the  love  that  we  get ! 

And  thus  it  appears  —  though  it  sounds  like  a  jest  — 
The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be  in  their  debt ; 

And  though  we  may  think  we  are  specially  blest, 
We  are  certain  to  pay  for  whatever  we  get ! 


THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL.  13 


THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL. 

A   BALLAD. 

WITHIN  a  churchyard's  sacred  ground, 
Whose  fading  tablets  tell 
Where  they  who  built  the  village  church 

In  solemn  silence  dwell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  earth,  there  lies 
An  ancient  Chapel-Bell. 

Broken,  decayed,  and  covered  o'er 
With  mouldering  leaves  and  rust ; 

Its  very  name  and  date  concealed 
Beneath  a  cankering  crust ; 

Forgotten,  —  like  its  early  friends, 
Who  sleep  in  neighboring  dust. 

Yet  it  was  once  a  trusty  Bell, 

Of  most  sonorous  lung, 
And  many  a  joyous  wedding-peal, 

And  many  a  knell  had  rung, 
Ere  Time  had  cracked  its  brazen  sides, 

And  broke  its  iron  tongue. 

And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced, 

In  merry  Christmas-time, 
To  hear  its  pleasant  roundelay, 

Sung  out^in  ringing  rhyme  ; 
And  many  a  worldly  thought  been  checked 

To  list  its  Sabbath  chime. 


14  THE   OLD  CHAPEL-BELL. 

A  youth,  —  a  bright  and  happy  boy, 
One  sultry  summer's  day, 

Aweary  of  his  bat  and  ball, 
Chanced  hitherward  to  stray, 

To  read  a  little  book  he  had, 
And  rest  him  from  his  play. 

"  A  soft  and  shady  spot  is  this  ! " 

The  rosy  youngster  cried, 
And  sat  him  down,  beneath  a  tree, 

That  ancient  Bell  beside  ; 
(But,  hidden  in  the  tangled  grass, 

The  Bell  he  ne'er  espied.) 

Anon,  a  mist  fell  on  his  book, 
The  letters  seemed  to  stir, 

And  though,  full  oft,  his  flagging  sight 
The  boy  essayed  to  spur, 

The  mazy  page  was  quickly  lost 
Beneath  a  cloudy  blur. 

And  while  he  marvelled  much  at  this, 
And  wondered  how  it  came, 

He  felt  a  languor  creeping  o'er 
His  young  and  weary  frame, 

And  heard  a  voice,  a  gentle  voice, 
That  plainly  spoke  his  name. 

That  gentle  voice  that  named  his  name 
Entranced  him  like  a  spell, 

Upon  his  ear  so  very  near 
And  suddenly  it  fell,  _ 

Yet  soft  and  musical,  as  't  were 
The  whisper  of  a  belL 


THE   OLD   CHAPEL-BELL. 

"  Since  last  I  spoke,"  the  voice  began, 
"  Seems  many  a  dreary  year  ! 

(Albeit,  't  is  only  since  thy  birth 
I  Ve  lain  neglected  here  !) 

Pray  list,  while  I  rehearse  a  tale 
Behooves  thee  much  to  hear. 

"  Once,  from  yon  ivied  tower,  I  watched 

The  villagers,  around, 
And  gave  to  all  their  joys  and  griefs 

A  sympathetic  sound, — 
But  most  are  sleeping,  now,  within 

This  consecrated  ground. 

"  I  used  to  ring  my  merriest  peal 

To  hail  the  blushing  bride  ; 
I  sadly  tolled  for  men  cut  down 

In  strength  and  manly  pride  ; 
And  solemnly,  —  not  mournfully,  — 

When  little  children  died. 

"  But,  chief,  my  duty  was  to  bid 

The  villagers  repair, 
On  each  returning  Sabbath  morn 

Unto  the  House  of  Prayer, 
And  in  his  own  appointed  place 

The  Saviour's  mercy  share. 

"  Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  a  child, 

A  gleesome,  happy  maid, 
Who  came,  with  constant  step,  to  church, 

In  comely  garb  arrayed, 
And  knelt  her  down  full  solemnly, 

And  penitently  prayed. 


1 6  THE   OLD   CHAPEL-BELL. 

"  And  oft,  when  church  was  done,  I  marked 

That  little  maiden  near 
This  pleasant  spot,  with  book  in  hand, 

As  you  are  sitting  here,  — 
She  read  the  Story  of  the  Cross, 

And  wept  with  grief  sincere. 

"  Years  rolled  away,  —  and  I  beheld 

The  child  to  woman  grown  ; 
Her  cheek  was  fairer,  and  her  eye 

With  brighter  lustre  shone  ; 
But  childhood's  truth  and  innocence 

Were  still  the  maiden's  own. 

"  I  never  rang  a  merrier  peal 

Than  when,  a  joyous  bride, 
She  stood  beneath  the  sacred  porch, 

A  noble  youth  beside, 
And  plighted  him  her  maiden  troth, 

In  maiden  love  and  pride. 

"  I  never  tolled  a  deeper  knell, 

Than  when,  in  after  years, 
They  laid  her  in  the  churchyard  here, 

Where  this  low  mound  appears,  — 
(The  very  grave,  my  boy,  that  you 

Are  watering  now  with  tears  !) 

"  //  is  thy  mother  !  gentle  boy, 
That  claims  this  tale  of  mine,  — 

Thou  art  a  flower  whose  fatal  birth 
Destroyed  the  parent  vine  ! 

A  precious  flower  art  thou,  my  child, — 
TWO  LIVES  WERE  GIVEN  FOR  THIXE  ! 


COMPENSA  TION. 

"  One  was  thy  sainted  mother's,  when 
She  gave  thee  mortal  birth  ; 

And  one  thy  Saviour's,  when  in  death 
He  shook  the  solid  earth  ; 

Go  !  boy,  and  live  as  may  befit 
Thy  life's  exceeding  worth  ! " 

The  boy  awoke,  as  from  a  dream, 
And,  thoughtful,  looked  around, 

But  nothing  saw,  save  at  his  feet 
His  mother's  lowly  mound, 

And  by  its  side  that  ancient  Bell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  ground  ! 


COMPENSATION. 


WHEN  once,  in  "Merrie  England," 
A  prisoner  of  state 
Stood  waiting  death  or  exile, 

Submissive  to  his  fate, 
He  made  this  famous  answer,  — 
"  Si  longa,  levis; 
Dura,  brevis; 
Go  tell  your  tyrant  chief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 
Cruel  ones  are  brief !  " 

II. 

Alas  !  we  all  are  culprits  ; 
Our  bodies  doomed  to  bear 


1 8  THE   OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO. 

Discomforts  and  diseases, 

And  none  may  'scape  his  share ; 
But  God  in  pity  orders, 
Si  longa,  levis  j 
Dura,  brevis; 
He  grants  us  this  relief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 
Cruel  ones  are  brief. 

ill. 

Nor  less  the  mind  must  suffer 
Its  weight  of  care  and  woe, 
Afflictions  and  bereavements 

Itself  can  only  know  ; 
But  let  us  still  remember, 
Si  long  a,  levis  j 
Dura,  brevis  j 
To  moderate  our  grief,  — 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 
Cruel  ones  are  brief. 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    MOTTO. 


IVE  me  a  motto  !  "  said  a  youth 

To  one  whom  years  had  rendered  wise  ; 
"  Some  pleasant  thought,  or  weighty  truth, 

That  briefest  syllables  comprise  ; 
Some  word  of  warning  or  of  cheer 
To  grave  upon  my  signet  here. 

"And,  reverend  father,"  said  the  boy, 
"  Since  life,  they  say,  is  ever  made 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO. 

A  mingled  web  of  grief  and  joy ; 

Since  cares  may  come  and  pleasures  fade, 
Pray,  let  the  motto  have  a  range 
Of  meaning  matching  every  change." 

"  Sooth  !  "  said  the  sire,  "  methinks  you  ask 

A  labor  something  over-nice, 
That  well  a  finer  brain  might  task,  — 

What  think  you,  lad,  of  this  device 
(Older  than  I,  —  though  I  am  gray), 
'T  is  simple,  — '  This  will  pass  away '  ? 

"  When  wafted  on  by  Fortujie's  breeze, 
In  endless  peace  thou  seem'st  to  glide, 

Prepare  betimes  for  rougher  seas, 
And  check  the  boast  of  foolish  pride ; 

Though  smiling  joy  is  thine  to-day, 

Remember,  '  This  will  pass  away ! ' 

"  When  all  the  sky  is  draped  in  black, 
And,  beaten  by  tempestuous  gales, 

Thy  shuddering  ship  seems  all  a-wrack, 
Then  trim  again  thy  tattered  sails ; 

To  grim  Despair  be  not  a  prey  ; 

Bethink  thee,  '  This  will  pass  away  ! ' 

"  Thus,  O  my  son,  be  not  o'er-proud, 
Nor  yet  cast  down  ;  judge  thou  aright; 

When  skies  are  clear,  expect  the  cloud ; 
In  darkness,  wait  the  coming  light ; 

Whatever  be  thy  fate  to-day, 

Remember,  '  This  will  pass  away  ! ' " 


20  MAXIMILIAN. 


MAXIMILIAN. 

NOT  with  a  craven  spirit  he 
Submitted  to  the  harsh  decree 
That  bade  him  die  before  his  time, 
Cut  off  in  manhood's  golden  prime,  — • 
Poor  Maximilian  ! 

And  some  who  marked  his  noble  mien, 
His  dauntless  heart,  his  soul  serene, 
Have  deemed  they  saw  a  martyr  die, 
And  chorused  forth  the  solemn  cry, 

"  Great  Maximilian  !  " 

Alas  !  Ambition  was  his  sin  ; 
He  staked  his  life  a  throne  to  win ; 
Counted  amiss  the  fearful  cost 
(As  chiefs  have  done  before),  —  and  lost ! 
Rash  Maximilian ! 

*T  is  not  the  victim's  tragic  fate, 
Nor  calm  endurance,  makes  him  great ; 
Mere  lust  of  empire  and  renown 
Can  never  claim  the  martyr's  crown  ! 
Brave  Maximilian  ! 

Alas  !  —  it  fell,  that,  in  thy  aim 
To  win  a  sovereign's  power  and  fame, 
Thy  better  nature  lost  its  force, 
And  royal  crimes  disgraced  thy  course, 
King  Maximilian  ! 


WISHING. 

Alas  !  what  ground  for  mercy's  plea 
In  his  behalf,  whose  fell  decree 
Gave  soldiers  unto  felon's  graves, 
And  freemen  to  the  doom  of  slaves,  — 
Fierce  Maximilian  ? 

I  loathe  the  rude,  barbaric  wrath 
That  slew  thee  in  thy  vent'rous  path  ; 
But  "they  who  take,"  thus  saith  the  Lord, 
"  Shall  also  perish  by  the  sword," 

Doomed  Maximilian  ! 

But,  when  I  think  upon  the  scene,  — 
Thy  fearful  fate,  thy  wretched  queen,  — 
And  mark  how  bravely  thou  didst  die, 
I  breathe  again  the  pitying  sigh, 

"  Poor  Maximilian  !  " 


WISHING. 

OF  all  amusements  for  the  mind, 
From  logic  down  to  fishing, 
There  is  n't  one  that  you  can  find 

So  very  cheap  as  "  wishing." 
A  very  choice  diversion  too, 

If  we  but  rightly  use  it, 

And  not,  as  we  are  apt  to  do, 

Pervert  it,  and  abuse  it. 

I  wish,  —  a  common  wish,  indeed,  — • 
My  purse  were  somewhat  fatter, 


21 


22  WISHING. 

That  I  might  cheer  the  child  of  need, 
And  not  my  pride  to  flatter ; 

That  I  might  make  Oppression  reel, 
As  only  gold  can  make  it, 

And  break  the  Tyrant's  rod  of  steel, 
As  only  gold  can  break  it. 

I  wish  —  that  Sympathy  and  Love, 

And  every  human  passion, 
That  has  its  origin  above, 

Would  come  and  keep  in  fashion  ; 
That  Scorn,  and  Jealousy,  and  Hate, 

And  every  base  emotion, 
Were  buried  fifty  fathom  deep 

Beneath  the  waves  of  Ocean  ! 

I  wish  —  that  friends  were  always  true, 

And  motives  always  pure  ; 
I  wish  the  good  were  not  so  few, 

I  wish  the  bad  were  fewer ; 
I  wish  that  parsons  ne'er  forgot 

To  heed  their  pious  teaching  ; 
I  wish  that  practising  was  not 

So  different  from  preaching  ! 

I  wish  —  that  modest  worth  might  be 

Appraised  with  truth  and  candor ; 
I  wish  that  innocence  were  free 

From  treachery  and  slander  ; 
I  wish  that  men  their  vows  would  mind  ; 

That  women  ne'er  were  rovers  ; 
I  wish  that  wives  were  always  kind, 

And  husbands  always  lovers  ! 


THE    WAY  OF  THE    WORLD.  23 

I  wish  —  in  fine  —  that  Joy  and  Mirth, 

And  every  good  Ideal, 
May  come  erewhile,  throughout  the  earth, 

To  be  the  glorious  Real ; 
Till  God  shall  every  creature  bless 

With  his  supremest  blessing, 
And  Hope  be  lost  in  Happiness, 

And  Wishing  in  Possessing  ! 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD. 


A  YOUTH  would  marry  a  maiden, 
For  fair  and  fond  was  she ; 
But  she  was  rich,  and  he  was  poor, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 

A  lady  never  could  wear  — 

Her  mother  held  it  firm  — 
A  gown  that  came  of  an  India  plant, 

Instead  of  an  India  -worm  !  — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 

II. 
A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But  he  was  high  and  she  was  low, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 

A  man  who  had  worn  a  spur. 

In  ancient  battle  won, 
Had  sent  it  down  with  great  renown, 
To  goad  his  future  son  /  — 


A   POETS  ELEGY. 

And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 

III. 
A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But  their  sires  disputed  about  the  Mass, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  couple  of  wicked  kings, 

Three  hundred  years  agone, 
Had  played  at  a  royal  game  of  chess, 
And  the  Church  had  been  a  pawn  /• 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


A    POET'S    ELEGY. 


T  T  ERE  rests,  at  last,  from  worldly  care  and  strife, 
•»•  A     A  gentle  man-of-rhyme, 
Not  all  unknown  to  fame,  —  whose  lays  and  life 
Fell  short  of  the  sublime. 


Yet,  as  his  poems  ('t  was  the  critics'  praise) 

Betrayed  a  careful  mind, 
His  life,  with  less  of  license  than  his  lays, 

To  Virtue  was  inclined. 

Whate'er  of  Wit  the  kindly  Muse  supplied 

He  ever  strove  to  bend 
To  Folly's  hurt ;  nor  once  with  wanton  pride 

Employed  to  pain  a  friend. 


A   POET'S  ELEGY.  2 

He  loved  a  quip,  but  in  his  jesting  vein 

With  studious  care  effaced 
The  doubtful  word  that  threatened  to  profane 

The  sacred  or  the  chaste. 

He  loathed  the  covert,  diabolic  jeer 

That  conscience  undermines ; 
No  hinted  sacrilege  nor  sceptic  sneer 

Lurks  in  his  laughing  lines. 

With  satire's  sword  to  pierce  the  false  and  wrong ; 

A  ballad  to  invent 
That  bore  a  wholesome  sermon  in  the  song,  — 

Such  was  the  poet's  bent. 

In  social  converse,  "happy  as  a  king," 

When  colder  men  refrained 
From  daring  flights,  he  gave  his  fancy  wing 

And  freedom  unrestrained. 

And  golden  thoughts,  at  times,  —  a  motley  brood,  - 

Came  flashing  from  the  mine  ; 
And  fools  who  saw  him  in  his  merry  mood 

Accused  the  untasted  wine. 

He  valued  friendship's  favor  more  than  fame, 

And  paid  his  social  dues  ; 
He  loved  his  Art,  —  but  held  his  manly  name 

Far  dearer  than  his  Muse. 

And  partial  friends,  while  gayly  laughing  o'er 

The  merry  lines  they  quote, 
Say  with  a  sigh,  "  To  us  the  man  was  more 

Than  aught  he  ever  wrote  !  " 


26  THE  MOURNER  A  LA   MODE. 


THE    MOURNER    A    LA    MODE. 

I    SAW  her  last  night  at  a  party  f 

(The  elegant  party  at  Mead's), 
And  looking  remarkably  hearty 

For  a  widow  so  young  in  her  weeds  ; 
Yet  I  know  she  was  suffering  sorrow 

Too  deep  for  the  tongue  to  express,  — 
Or  why  had  she  chosen  to  borrow 
So  much  from  the  language  of  dress  ? 

Her  shawl  was  as  sable  as  night ; 

And  her  gloves  were  as  dark  as  her  shawl ; 
And  her  jewels  —  that  flashed  in  the  light  — 

Were  black  as  a  funeral  pall ; 
Her  robe  had  the  hue  of  the  rest, 

(How  nicely  it  fitted  her  shape  !) 
And  the  grief  that  was  heaving  her  breast 

Boiled  over  in  billows  of  crape  ! 

What  tears  of  vicarious  woe, 

That  else  might  have  sullied  her  face, 
Were  kindly  permitted  to  flow 

In  ripples  of  ebony  lace  ! 
While  even  her  fan,  in  its  play, 

Had  quite  a  lugubrious  scope, 
And  seemed  to  be  waving  away 

The  ghost  of  the  angel  of  Hope  ! 

Yet  rich  as  the  robes  of  a  queen 
Was  the  sombre  apparel  she  wore  ; 

I  'm  certain  I  never  had  seen 

Such  a  sumptuous  sorrow  before  ; 


THE  MOURNER  A   LA   MODE. 

And  I  could  n't  help  thinking  the  beauty, 
In  mourning  the  loved  and  the  lost, 

Was  doing  her  conjugal  duty 
Altogether  regardless  of  cost ! 

One  surely  would  say  a  devotion 

Performed  at  so  vast  an  expense 
Betrayed  an  excess  of  emotion 

That  was  really  something  immense  ; 
And  yet  as  I  viewed,  at  my  leisure, 

Those  tokens  of  tender  regard, 
I  thought :  —  It  is  scarce  without  measure- 

The  sorrow  that  goes  by  the  yard  ! 

Ah  !    grief  is  a  curious  passion  ; 

And  yours  —  I  am  sorely  afraid 
The  very  next  phase  of  the  fashion 

Will  find  it  beginning  to  fade  ; 
Though  dark  are  the  shadows  of  grief, 

The  morning  will  follow  the  night, 
Half-tints  will  betoken  relief, 

Till  joy  shall  be  symbolled  in  white ! 

Ah  well !  — it  were  idle  to  quarrel 

With  Fashion,  or  aught  she  may  do  ; 
And  so  I  conclude  with  a  moral 

And  metaphor  —  warranted  new:  — 
When  measles  come  handsomely  out, 

The  patient  is  safest,  they  say  ; 
And  the  Sorrow  is  mildest,  no  doubt, 

That  works  in  a  similar  way ! 


27 


THE  EXPECTED  SHIP. 


THE    EXPECTED    SHIP. 

'~pHUS  I  heard  a  poet  say, 
-*-       As  he  sang  in  merry  glee, 
"  Ah  !  't  will  be  a  golden  day, 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea  ! 

"  I  do  know  a  cottage  fine, 
As  a  poet's  house  should  be, 

And  the  cottage  shall  be  mine, 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  I  do  know  a  maiden  fair, 

Fair,  and  fond,  and  dear  to  me, 

And  we  '11  be  a  wedded  pair, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea! 

"  And  within  that  cottage  fine, 

Blest  as  any  king  may  be, 
Every  pleasure  shall  be  mine, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  To  be  rich  is  to  be  great ; 

Love  is  only  for  the  free  ; 
Grant  me  patience,  while  I  wait 

Till  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea  ! '' 

Months  and  years  have  come  and  gone 

Since  the  poet  sang  to  me, 
Yet  he  still  keeps  hoping  on 

For  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 


THE  HEAD  AND    THE  HEART. 

Thus  the  siren  voice  of  Hope 
Whispers  still  to  you  and  me 

Of  something  in  the  future's  scope, 
Some  golden  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Never  sailor  yet  hath  found, 

Looking  windward  or  to  lee, 
Any  vessel  homeward  bound, 

Like  that  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Never  comes  the  shining  deck  ; 

But  that  tiny  cloud  may  be, 
Though  it  seems  the  merest  speck, 

The  promised  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Never  looms  the  swelling  sail, 
But  the  wind  is  blowing  free, 

And  that  may  be  the  precious  gale 
That  brings  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea  ! 


THE    HEAD    AND    THE    HEART. 


HP  HE  head  is  stately,  calm,  and  wise, 

-*•      And  bears  a  princely  part ; 
And  down  below  in  secret  lies 
The  warm,  impulsive  heart. 

The  lordly  head  that  sits  above, 
The  heart  that  beats  below, 

Their  several  office  plainly  prove, 
Their  true  relation  show. 


29 


3° 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

The  head  erect,  serene,  and  cool, 
Endowed  with  Reason's  art, 

Was  set  aloft  to  guide  and  rule 
The  throbbing,  wayward  heart. 

And  from  the  head,  as  from  the  higher, 
Comes  every  glorious  thought ; 

And  in  the  heart's  transforming  fire 
All  noble  deeds  are  wrought. 

Yet  each  is  best  when  both  unite 
To  make  the  man  complete ; 

What  were  the  heat  without  the  light  ? 
The  light,  without  the  heat  ? 


THE    PROUD    MISS    MACBRIDE. 

A  LEGEND  OF  GOTHAM. 
I. 

O    TERRIBLY  proud  was  Miss  MacBride, 
'  The  very  personification  of  Pride, 
As  she  minced  along  in  Fashion's  tide, 
Adown  Broadway,  — -  on  the  proper  side,  — 

When  the  golden  sun  was  setting ; 
There  was  pride  in  the  head  she  carried  so  high. 
Pride  in  her  lip,  and  pride  in  her  eye, 
And  a  world  of  pride  in  the  very  sigh 

That  her  stately  bosom  was  fretting ; 

II. 

A  sigh  that  a  pair  of  elegant  feet, 
Sandalled  in  satin,  should  kiss  the  street,  — 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

The  very  same  that  the  vulgar  greet 
In  common  leather  not  over  "neat,"  — 

For  such  is  the  common  booting ; 
(And  Christian  tears  may  well  be  shed, 
That  even  among  our  gentlemen  bred, 
The  glorious  day  of  Morocco  is  dead, 
And  Day  and  Martin  are  raining  instead, 

On  a  much  inferior  footing  !) 

in. 

O,  terribly  proud  was  Miss  MacBride, 
Proud  of  her  beauty,  and  proud  of  her  pride, 
And  proud  of  fifty  matters  beside 

That  would  n't  have  borne  dissection  ; 
Proud  of  her  wit,  and  proud  of  her  walk, 
Proud  of  her  teeth,  and  proud  of  her  talk, 
Proud  of  "knowing  cheese  from  chalk," 

On  a  very  slight  inspection  ! 

IV. 

Proud  abroad,  and  proud  at  home, 

Proud  wherever  she  chanced  to  come, 

When  she  was  glad,  and  when  she  was  glum ; 

Proud  as  the  head  of  a  Saracen 
Over  the  door  of  a  tippling  shop !  — 
Proud  as  a  duchess,  proud  as  a  fop, 
"  Proud  as  a  boy  with  a  bran-new  top," 

Proud  beyond  comparison  ! 

v. 

It  seems  a  singular  thing  to  say, 
But  her  very  senses  led  her  astray 
Respecting  all  humility ; 


32 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

In  sooth,  her  dull  auricular  drum 
Could  find  in  Humble  only  a  "  hum," 
And  heard  no  sound  of  "gentle"  come, 
In  talking  about  gentility. 

VI. 

What  Lowly  meant  she  did  n't  know, 
For  she  always  avoided  "everything  low," 

With  care  the  most  punctilious, 
And  queerer  still,  the  audible  sound 
Of  "super-silly"  she  never  had  found 

In  the  adjective  supercilious  ! 

VII. 

The  meaning  of  Meek  she  never  knew, 
But  imagined  the  phrase  had  something  to  do 
With  "Moses,"  —  a  peddling  German  Jew, 
Who,  like  all  hawkers  the  country  through, 

Was  a  person  of  no  position ; 
And  it  seemed  to  her  exceedingly  plain, 
If  the  word  was  really  known  to  pertain 
To  a  vulgar  German,  it  was  n't  germane 

To  a  lady  of  high  condition ! 

VIII. 

Even  her  graces,  —  not  her  grace, 
For  that  was  in  the  "  vocative  case,"  — 
Chilled  with  the  touch  of  her  icy  face, 

Sat  very  stiffly  upon  her  ; 
She  never  confessed  a  favor  aloud, 
Like  one  of  the  simple,  common  crowd, 
But  coldly  smiled,  and  faintly  bowed, 
As  who  should  say :  "  You  do  me  proud, 

And  do  yourself  an  honor ! " 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE.  33 

IX. 

And  yet  the  pride  of  Miss  MacBride, 
Although  it  had  fifty  hobbies  to  ride, 

Had  really  no  foundation  ; 
But,  like  the  fabrics  that  gossips  devise,  — 
Those  single  stories  that  often  arise 
And  grow  till  they  reach  a  four-story  size,  — 

Was  merely  a  fancy  creation  ! 

X. 

'T  is  a  curious  fact  as  ever  was  known 
In  human  nature,  but  often  shown 

Alike  in  castle  and  cottage, 
That  pride,  like  pigs  of  a  certain  breed, 
Will  manage  to  live  and  thrive  on  "feed" 

As  poor  as  a  pauper's  pottage  ! 

XI. 

That  her  wit  should  never  have  made  her  vain, 
Was,  like  her  face,  sufficiently  plain  ; 

And  as  to  her  musical  powers, 
Although  she  sang  until  she  was  hoarse, 
And  issued  notes  with  a  Banker's  force, 
They  were  just  such  notes  as  we  never  indorse 

For  any  acquaintance  of  ours ! 

XII. 

Her  birth,  indeed,  was  uncommonly  high, 
For  Miss  MacBride  first  opened  her  eye 
Through  a  skylight  dim,  on  the  light  of  the  sky ; 

But  pride  is  a  curious  passion, 
And  in  talking  about  her  wealth  and  worth 
She  always  forgot  to  mention  her  birth, 

To  people  of  rank  and  fashion  ! 


34  THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

XIII. 

Of  all  the  notable  things  on  earth, 
The  queerest  one  is  pride  of  birth, 

Among  our  "  fierce  Democracie  "  ! 
A  bridge  across  a  hundred  years, 
Without  a  prop  to  save  it  from  sneers,  — 
Not  even  a  couple  of  rotten  Peers,  — 
A  thing  for  laughter,  fleers,  and  jeers, 

Is  American  aristocracy ! 

XIV. 

English  and  Irish,  French  and  Spanish, 
German,  Italian,  Dutch,  and  Danish, 
Crossing  their  veins  until  they  vanish 

In  one  conglomeration ! 
So  subtle  a  tangle  of  Blood,  indeed, 
No  modern  Harvey  will  ever  succeed 

In  finding  the  circulation ! 

XV. 

Depend  upon  it,  my  snobbish  friend, 
Your  family  thread  you  can't  ascend, 
Without  good  reason  to  apprehend 
You  may  find  it  waxed  at  the  farther  end 

By  some  plebeian  vocation  ; 
Or,  worse  than  that,  your  boasted  Line 
May  end  in  a  loop  of  stronger  twine, 

That  plagued  some  worthy  relation ! 

XVI. 

But  Miss  MacBride  hath  something  beside 
Her  lofty  birth  to  nourish  her  pride,  — 
For  rich  was  the  old  paternal  MacBride, 
According  to  public  rumor  ; 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

And  he  lived  "  Up  Town,"  in  a  splendid  square, 
And  kept  his  daughter  on 'dainty  fare, 
And  gave  her  gems  that  were  rich  and  rare, 
And  the  finest  rings  and  things  to  wear, 

And  feathers  enough  to  plume  her ! 

XVII. 

An  honest  mechanic  was  John  MacBride, 
As  ever  an  honest  calling  plied, 

Or  graced  an  honest  ditty  ; 
For  John  had  worked  in  his  early  day, 
In  "  Pots  and  Pearls,"  the  legends  say, 
And  kept  a  shop  with  a  rich  array 
Of  things  in  the  soap  and  candle  way, 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  city. 

XVIII. 

No  rara  avis  was  honest  John, 
(That 's  the  Latin  for  "  sable  swan,") 

Though,  in  one  of  his  fancy  flashes, 
A  wicked  wag,  who  meant  to  deride, 
Called  honest  John,  "  Old  Phcenix  MacBride," 

"  Because  he  rose  from  his  ashes  !  " 

XIX. 

Alack  !  for  many  ambitious  beaux ! 
She  hung  their  hopes  upon  her  nose, 

(The  figure  is  quite  Horatian  !)* 
Until  from  habit  the  member  grew 
As  queer  a  thing  as  ever  you  knew 

Turn  up  to  observation  ! 

*  "  Omnia  suspendens  naso." 


35 


3  6  THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

XX. 

A  thriving  tailor  begged  her  hand, 

But  she  gave  "  the  fellow  "  to  understand, 

By  a  violent  manual  action, 
She  perfectly  scorned  the  best  of  his  clan, 
And  reckoned  the  ninth  of  any  man 

An  exceedingly  Vulgar  Fraction  ! 

XXI. 

Another,  whose  sign  was  a  golden  boot, 
Was  mortified  with  a  bootless  suit, 

In  a  way  that  was  quite  appalling ; 
For  though  a  regular  sutor  by  trade, 
He  was  n't  a  suitor  to  suit  the  maid, 
Who  cut  him  off  with  a  saw,  — and  bade 

"  The  cobbler  keep  to  his  calling." 

XXII. 

(The  Muse  must  let  a  secret  out,  — 
There  is  n't  the  faintest  shadow  of  doubt, 
That  folks  who  oftenest  sneer  and  flout 

At  "  the  dirty,  low  mechanicals," 
Are  they  whose  sires,  by  pounding  their  knees, 
Or  coiling  their  legs,  or  trades  like  these, 
Contrived  to  win  their  children  ease 

From  poverty's  galling  manacles.) 

XXIII. 

A  rich  tobacconist  comes  and  sues, 
And,  thinking  the  lady  would  scarce  refuse 
A  man  of  his  wealth  and  liberal  views, 
Began,  at  once,  with,  "If. you  choose, — 
And  could  you  really  love  him  — 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

But  the  lady  spoiled  his  speech  in  a  huff, 
With  an  answer  rough  and  ready  enough, 
To  let  him  know  she  was  up  to  snuff, 
And  altogether  above  him  ! 


XXIV. 

A  young  attorney  of  winning  grace, 
Was  scarce  allowed  to  "  open  his  face," 
Ere  Miss  MacBride  had  closed  his  case 

With  true  judicial  celerity  ; 
For  the  lawyer  was  poor,  and  "seedy"  to  boot, 
And  to  say  the  rady  discarded  his  suit, 

Is  merely  a  double  verity. 

XXV. 

The  last  of  those  who  came  to  court 

Was  a  lively  beau  of  the  dapper  sort, 

"  Without  any  visible  means  of  support,"  — 

A  crime  by  no  means  flagrant 
In  one  who  wears  an  elegant  coat, 
But  the  very  point  on  which  they  vote 

A  ragged  fellow  "  a  vagrant." 

XXVI. 

A  courtly  fellow  was  Dapper  Jim, 
Sleek  and  supple,  and  talj  and  trim, 
And  smooth  of  tongue  as  neat  of  limb ; 

And,  maugre  his  meagre  pocket, 
You  'd  say,  from  the  glittering  tales  he  told, 
That  Jim  had  slept  in  a  cradle  of  gold, 

With  Fortunatus  to  rock  it ! 


37 


3 8  THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

XXVII. 

Now  Dapper  Jim  his  courtship  plied 

(I  wish  the  fact  could  be  denied), 

With  an  eye  to  the  purse  of  the  old  MacBride, 

And  really  "  nothing  shorter"  ! 
For  he  said  to  himself,  in  his  greedy  lust, 
"  Whenever  he  dies,  —  as  die  he  must,  — 
And  yields  to  Heaven  his  vital  trust, 
He  's  very  sure  to  '  come  down  with  his  dust,' 

In  behalf  of  his  only  daughter." 


XXVIII. 

And  the  very  magnificent  Miss  MacBride, 
Half  in  love  and  half  in  pride, 

Quite  graciously  relented  ; 
And  tossing  her  head,  and  turning  her  back, 
No  token  of  proper  pride  to  lack, 
To  be  a  Bride  without  the  "  Mac," 

With  much  disdain,  consented. 


XXIX. 

Alas  !  that  people  who  Ve  got  their  box 
Of  cash  beneath  the  best  of  locks, 
Secure  from  all  financial  shocks, 
Should  stock  their  fancy  with  fancy  stocks, 
And  madly  rush  upon  Wall  Street  rocks, 

Without  the  least  apology  ; 
Alas  !  that  people  whose  money  affairs 
Are  sound  beyond  all  need  of  repairs, 
Should  ever  tempt  the  bulls  and  bears 

Of  Mammon's  fierce  Zoology  I 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE.  39 

XXX. 

Old  John  MacBride,  one  fatal  day, 
Became  the  unresisting  prey 

Of  Fortune's  undertakers  ; 
And  staking  his  all  on  a  single  die, 
His  foundered  bark  went  high  and  dry 

Among  .the  brokers  and  breakers  1 

XXXI. 

At  his  trade  again  in  the  very  shop 
Where,  years  before,  he  let  it  drop, 

He  follows  his  ancient  calling, — 
Cheerily,  too,  in  poverty's  spite, 
And  sleeping  quite  as  sound  at  night, 
As  when,  at  Fortune's  giddy  height, 
He  used  to  wake  with  a  dizzy  fright 

From  a  dismal  dream  of  falling. 

XXXII. 

But  alas  for  the  haughty  Miss  MacBride  ! 
'T  was  such  a  shock  to  her  precious  pride, 
She  could  n't  recover,  although  she  tried 

Her  jaded  spirits  to  rally  ; 
'T  was  a  dreadful  change  in  human  affairs 
From  a  Place  "  Up  Town"  to  a  nook  "  Up  Stairs," 

From  an  Avenue  down  to  an  Alley  ! 

XXXIII. 

'T  was  little  condolence  she  had,  God  wot, 
From  her  "  troops  of  friends,"  who  had  n't  forrjot 

The  airs  she  used  to  borrow  ; 
They  had  civil  phrases  enough,  but  yet 
'T  was  plain  to  see  that  their  "  deepest  regret" 

Was  a  different  thing  from  Sorrow  ! 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE. 
XXXIV. 

They  owned  it  could  n't  have  well  been  worse, 

To  go  from  a  full  to  an  empty  purse  ; 

To  expect  a  reversion  and  get  a  "  reverse," 

Was  truly  a  dismal  feature  ; 

But  it  was  n't  strange,  —  they  whispered,  —  at  all ; 
That  the  Summer  of  pride  should  have  its  Fall, 

Was  quite  according  to  Nature  ! 

xxxv. 

And  one  of  those  chaps  who  make  a  pun,  — 
As  if  it  were  quite  legitimate  fun 
To  be  blazing  away  at  every  one, 
With  a  regular  double-loaded  gun,  — 

Remarked  that  moral  transgression 
Always  brings  retributive  stings 
To  candle-makers,  as  well  as  kings  : 
And  making  light  of  cereous  things, 

Was  a  very  wick-ed  profession  ! 

xxxvr. 

And  vulgar  people,  the  saucy  churls, 
Inquired  about  "the  price  of  Pearls," 

And  mocked  at  her  situation  ; 
"  She  was  n't  ruined,  —  they  ventured  to  hope,  — 
Because  she  was  poor,  she  need  n't  mope,  — 
Few  people  were  better  off  for  soap, 

And  that  was  a  consolation  !  " 

XXXVII. 

And  to  make  her  cup  of  woe  run  over, 
Her  elegant,  ardent,  plighted  lover 

Was  the  very  first  to  forsake  her  ; 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 

He  quite  regretted  the  step,  't  was  true,  — 
The  lady  had  pride  enough  "  for  two," 
But  that  alone  would  never  do 

To  quiet  the  butcher  and  baker  ! 

XXXVIII. 

And  now  the  unhappy  Miss  MacBride, 
The  merest  ghost  of  her  early  pride, 

Bewails  her  lonely  position  ; 
Cramped  in  the  very  narrowest  niche, 
Above  the  poor,  and  below  the  rich, 

Was  ever  a  worse  condition  ? 


Because  you  flourish  in  worldly  affairs, 
Don't  be  haughty,  and  put  on  airs, 

With  insolent  pride  of  station  ! 
Don't  be  proud,  and  turn  up  your  nose 
At  poorer  people  in  plainer  clo'es, 
But  learn,  for  the  sake  of  your  soul's  repose, 
That  wealth  's  a  bubble,  that  comes,  —  and  goes  ! 
And  that  all  Proud  Flesh,  wherever  it  grows, 

Is  subject  to  irritation  ! 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


THE    MASQUERADE. 

Ilapi^ao-is,  TIT'  c/cAei/ie  POOP  miica  jrep  <j>pove6vr<av. 

HOM.  II.  xiv.  217. 

I. 

/"""•CUNT  FELIX  was  a  man  of  worth 
^— •     By  Fashion's  strictest  definition, 
For  he  had  money,  manners,  birth, 
And  that  most  slippery  thing  on  earth 
Which  social  critics  call  position. 

II. 
And  yet  the  Count  was  seldom  gay ; 

The  rich  and  noble  have  their  crosses  ; 
And  he  —  as  he  was  wont  to  say  — 
Had  seen  some  trouble  in  his  day, 

And  met  with  several  serious  losses. 

III. 
Among  the  rest,  he  lost  his  wife, 

A  very  model  of  a  woman, 
With  every  needed  virtue  rife 
To  lead  a  spouse  a  happy  life,  — 

Such  wives  (in  France)  are  not  uncommon. 

IV. 
The  lady  died,  and  left  him  sad 

And  lone,  to  mourn  the  best  of  spouses ; 
She  left  him  also  —  let  me  add  — 
One  child,  and  all  the  wealth  she  had,  — 

The  rent  of  half  a  dozen  houses. 


THE  MASQUERADE.  43 

V. 

I  cannot  tarry  to  discuss 

The  weeping  husband's  desolation  ; 
Upon  her  tomb  he  wrote  it  thus  :  — 
"  FELIX  infelicissimtis  !  " 

In  very  touching  ostentation.        ^ 

VI. 

Indeed,  the  Count's  behavior  earned 

The  plaudits  of  his  strict  confessor ; 
His  weeds  of  woe  had  fairly  turned 
From  black  to  brown,  ere  he  had  learned 
To  think  about  his  wife's  successor. 

VII. 

And  then,  indeed,  't  was  but  a  thought ; 

A  sort  of  sentimental  dreaming, 
That  came  at  times,  and  came  —  to  naught, 
With  all  the  plans  so  nicely  wrought 

By  matrons  skilled  in  marriage-scheming. 

VIII. 

At  last  when  many  years  had  fled, 

And  Father  Time,  the  great  physician, 

Had  soothed  his  sorrow  for  the  dead, 

Count  Felix  took  it  in  his  head 
To  change  his  wearisome  condition. 

ix.  . 

You  think,  perhaps,  't  was  quickly  done  ; 

The  Count  was  still  a  man  of  fashion  ; 
Wealth,  title,  talents,  all  in  one, 
Were  eloquence,  to  win  a  nun, 

If  nuns  could  feel  a  worldly  passion. 


44  THE  MASQUERADE. 

X. 

And  yet  the  Count  might  well  despond 

Of  tying  soon  the  silken  tether ; 
Wise,  witty,  handsome,  faithful,  fond, 
And  twenty  —  not  a  year  beyond  — 
Are  charming,  —  when  they  come  together  ! 

XI. 
But  more  than  that,  the  man  required 

A  wife  to  share  his  whims  and  fancies  ; 
Admire  alone  what  he  admired  ; 
Desire,  of  course,  as  he  desired, 

And  show  it  in  her  very  glances. 

XII. 

Long,  long  the  would-be  wooer  tried 
To  find  his  precious  ultimatum,  — 

All  earthly  charms  in  one  fair  bride ; 

But  still  in  vain  he  sought  and  sighed  ; 
He  could  n't  manage  to  get  at  'em, 

XIII. 

In  sooth,  the  Count  was  one  of  those 

Who,  seeking  something  superhuman, 
Find  not  the  angel  they  would  choose, 
And  —  what  is  more  unlucky  —  lose 

Their  chance  to  wed  a  charming  woman. 

XIV. 

The  best-matched  doves  in  Hymen's  cage 
Were  paired  in  youth's  romantic  season  ; 

Laugh  as  you  will  at  passion's  rage, 

The  most  unreasonable  age 

Is  what  is  called  the  age  of  reason. 


THE  MASQUERADE.  45 

XV. 

In  love-affairs,  we  all  have  seen, 

The  heart  is  oft  the  best  adviser ; 
The  gray  might  well  consult  the."  green," 
Cool  sixty  learn  of  rash  sixteen, 

And  go  away  a  deal  the  wiser. 

XVI. 
The  Count's  high  hopes  began  to  fade ; 

His  plans  were  not  at  all  advancing ; 
When,  lo  !  —  one  day  his  valet  made 
Some  mention  of  a  masquerade,  — 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  he,  —  "  and  see  the  dancing." 

XVII. 
"'T  will  serve  my  spirits  to  arouse  ; 

And,  faith  !  —  I  'm  getting  melancholy. 
'T  is  not  the  place  to  seek  a  spouse, 
Where  people  go  to  break  their  vows,  — 

But  then  't  will  be  extremely  jolly  ! " 

XVIII. 

Count  Felix  found  the  crowd  immense, 

And,  had  he  been  a  censor  morum, 
He  might  have  said,  without  offence, 
"  Got  up  regardless  of  expense, 

And  some  —  regardless  of  decorum." 

XIX. 

"  Faith  !  —  all  the  world  is  here  to-night !  " 
"  Nay,"  said  a  merry  friend  demurely, 

"  Not  quite  the  whole,  — pardon  !  —  not  quite  ; 

Le  Demi-Monde  were  nearer  right, 
And  no  exaggeration,  surely  !  " 


46  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XX. 

The  revelry  ('t  was  just  begun) 

A  stoic  might  have  found  diverting; 

That  is,  of  course,  if  he  was  one 

Who  liked  to  see  a  bit  of  fun, 

And  fancied  persiflage  and  flirting. 

XXI. 

But  who  can  paint  that  giddy  maze  ? 

Go  find  the  lucky  man  who  handles 
A  brush  to  catch,  on  gala-days, 
The  whirling,  shooting,  flashing  rays 

Of  Catharine-wheels  and  Roman  candles  ! 

XXII. 

All  sorts  of  masks  that  e'er  were  seen ; 

Fantastic,  comic,  and  satanic  ; 
Dukes,  dwarfs,  and  "  Highnesses"  (Serene), 
And  (that 's  of  course)  the  Cyprian  Queen, 

In  gauzes  few  and  diaphanic. 

XXIII. 

Lean  Carmelites,  fat  Capuchins, 

Giants  half  human  and  half  bestial ; 
Kings,  Queens,  Magicians,  Harlequins, 
Greeks,  Tartars,  Turks,  and  Mandarins 
More  diabolic  than  "  Celestial." 

XXIV. 

Fair  Scripture  dames,  —  Naomi,  Ruth, 
And  Hagar,  looking  quite  demented; 
The  Virtues  (all  —  excepting  Truth) 
And  Magdalens,  who  were  in  sooth 
Just  half  of  what  they  represented  ! 


THE  MASQUERADE.  47 

XXV. 

Fates,  Furies,  Fairies,  —  all  the  best 
And  worst  of  Fancy's  weird  creation  ; 

Psyche  and  Cupid  (demi-dressed) 

With  several  Vestals  —  by  request, 
And  solely  for  that  one  occasion. 

XXVI. 

And  one,  among  the  motley  brood, 

He  saw,  who  shunned  the  wanton  dances  ; 

A  sort  of  demi-nun,  who  stood 

In  ringlets  flashing  from  a  hood, 
And  seemed  to  seek  our  hero's  glances. 

XXVII. 

The  Count,  delighted  with  her  air, 

Drew  near,  the  better  to  behold  her ; 
Her  form  was  slight,  her  skin  was  fair, 
And  maidenhood,  you  well  might  swear, 
Breathed  from  the  dimples  in  her  shoulder. 

XXVIII. 

He  spoke  ;  she  answered  with  a  grace 
That  showed  the  girl  no  vulgar  heiress ; 

And,  —  if  the  features  one  may  trace 

In  voices,  —  hers  betrayed  a  face 
The  finest  to  be  found  in  Paris  ! 

XXIX. 

And  then  such  wit !  —  in  repartee 

She  shone  without  the  least  endeavor  ; 

A  beauty  and  a  bel-esprit ! 

A  scholar,  too,  —  't  was  plain  to  see,  — 
Who  ever  saw  a  girl  so  clever  ? 


48  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XXX. 

Her  taste  he  ventured  to  explore 

In  books  —  the  graver  and  the  lighter  — 

And  mentioned  authors  by  the  score  ; 

Men  Dieu  !  —  in  every  sort  of  lore 
She  always  chose  his  favorite  writer ! 

XXXI. 

She  loved  the  poets  ;  but  confessed 
Racine  beat  all  the  others  hollow ; 

At  least,  she  thought  his  style  the  best  — 

(Racine  !  his  literary  test ! 

Racine  !  his  Maximus  Apollo  /) 

XXXII. 

Whatever  topic  he  might  name, 

Their  minds  were  strangely  sympathetic  ; 
Of  courtship,  marriage,  fashion,  fame, 
Their  views  and  feelings  were  the  same,  — 
"  Parbleu  !  "  he  cried,  "  it  looks  prophetic  !  " 

XXXIII. 

"  Come,  let  us  seek  an  ampler  space  ; 

This  heated  room  —  I  can't  abide  it ! 
That  mask,  I  'm  sure,  is  out  of  place, 
And  hides  the  fairest,  sweetest  face  — 

Said  she,  "  I  wear  the  mask  to  hide  it !  " 

XXXIV. 

The  answer  was  extremely  pat, 
And  gave  the  Count  a  deal  of  pleasure  : 

"  Cest  vraif —  I  did  not  think  of  that ! 

Come,  let  us  go  where  we  can  chat 
And  eat  (I  'm  hungry)  at  our  leisure." 


777^  MASQUERADE.  49 

xxxv. 
"  I  'm  hungry  too  !  "  she  said,  —  and  went, 

Without  the  least  attempt  to  cozen,  — 
Like  ladies  who  refuse,  relent, 
Debate,  oppose,  and  then  consent 

To  —  eat  enough  for  half  a  dozen  ! 

xxxvi. 
And  so  they  sat  them  down  to  dine, 

Solus  cum  so/a,  gay  and  merry  ; 
The  Count  inquires  the  sort  of  wine 
To  which  his  charmer  may  incline,  — 

Ah  !  quclle  merveille  !  she  answers,  "  Sherry  !  " 

XXXVII. 

What  will  she  eat?     She  takes  the  carte, 
And  notes  the  viands  that  she  wishes ; 

"Pardon,  Monsieur !  what  makes  you  start?" 

As  if  she  knew  his  tastes  by  heart, 
The  lady  named  his  favorite  dishes  ! 

XXXVIII. 

Was  e'er  such  sympathy  before  ? 

The  Count  was  really  half  demented  ; 
He  kissed  her  hand,  and  roundly  swore 
He  loved  her  perfectly  !  —  and,  more,  — 

He  'd  wed  her  —  if  the  gods  consented  ! 

xxxix. 
"  Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  she  said, 

"  His  love  so  lavishly  bestowing 
On  one  who  never  thought  to  wed,  — 
And  least  of  all"  —  she  raised  her  head  — 

"'T  is  late,  Sir  Knight,  I  must  be  going  !  " 

3  D 


50  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XL. 
Count  Felix  sighed,  —  and  while  he  drew 

Her  shawl  about  her,  at  his  leisure, 
"What  street?"  he  asked  ;  "my  cab  is  due." 
"  No  !  —  no  !  "  she  said,  "  /  go  with  you  ! 

That  is  —  if  it  may  be  your  pleasure." 

XLI. 
Of  course,  there  's  little  need  to  say 

The  Count  delighted  in  her  capture ; 
Away  he  drove,  —  and  all  the  way 
He  murmured,  "  Quelle  felicite  !n 

In  very  ecstasy  of  rapture! 

XLII. 
Arrived  at  home — just  where  a  fount 

Shot  forth  a  jet  of  lucent  water  — 
He  helped  the  lady  to  dismount ; 
She  drops  her  mask  —  and  lo  !  — the  Count  — 

Sees  —  Dieu  de  del  / —  his  only  daughter  ! 

XLIII. 

"  Good  night !  "  she  said,  —  "  I  'm  very  well, 

Although  you  thought  my  health  was  fading ; 
Be  good  —  and  I  will  never  tell 
('T  was  funny  though)  of  what  befell 
When  you  and  I  went  masquerading  !  " 


MY  FAMILIAR.  51 

MY    FAMILIAR. 

"  Ecce  iterum  Crispinus  1 " 
I. 

AGAIN  I  hear  that  creaking  step !  — 
He  's  rapping  at  the  door  !  — 
Too  well  I  know  the  boding  sound 

That  ushers  in  a  bore. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 
Who  comes  —  but  never  goes  ! 

II. 

He  drops  into  my  easy-chair, 

And  asks  about  the  news  ; 
He  peers  into  my  manuscript, 

And  gives  his  candid  views  ; 
He  tells  me  where  he  likes  the  line, 

And  where  he  's  forced  to  grieve  ; 
He  takes  the  strangest  liberties,  — 

But  never  takes  his  leave  ! 

ill. 
He  reads  my  daily  paper  through 

Before  I  've  seen  a  word  ; 
He  scans  the  lyric  (that  I  wrote) 

And  thinks  it  quite  absurd  ; 
He  calmly  smokes  my  last  cigar, 

And  coolly  asks  for  more  ; 
He  opens  everything  he  sees  — 

Except  the  entry  door  ! 


MY  FAMILIAR. 

IV. 

He  talks  about  his  fragile  health, 

And  tells  me  of  the  pains 
He  suffers  from  a  score  of  ills 

Of  which  he  ne'er  complains  ; 
And  how  he  struggled  once  with  death 

To  keep  the  fiend  at  bay  ; 
On  themes  like  those  away  he  goes,  — 

But  never  goes  away  ! 

v. 
He  tells  me  of  the  carping  words 

Some  shallow  critic  wrote  ; 
And  every  precious  paragraph 

Familiarly  can  quote ; 
He  thinks  the  writer  did  me  wrong  ; 

He  'd  like  to  run  him  through  ! 
He  says  a  thousand  pleasant  things,  — 

But  never  says,  "  Adieu  ! " 

VI. 

Whene'er  he  comes,  —  that  dreadful  man, 

Disguise  it  as  I  may, 
I  know  that,  like  an  Autumn  rain, 

He  '11  last  throughout  the  day. 
In  vain  I  speak  of  urgent  tasks  ; 

In  vain  I  scowl  and  pout ; 
A  frown  is  no  extinguisher,  — 

It  does  not  put  him  out ! 

VII. 

I  mean  to  take  the  knocker  off, 
Put  crape  upon  the  door, 


LOVE  AND  LAW.  53 

Or  hint  to  John  that  I  am  gone 

To  stay  a  month  or  more. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 

Who  never,  never  goes  ! 


LOVE    AND    LAW. 

A  LEGEND  OF   BOSTON. 


JACK  NEWMAN  was  in  love  ;  a  common  case 
With  boys  just  verging  upon  manhood's  prime, 
When  every  damsel  with  a  pretty  face 

Seems  some  bright  creature  from  a  purer  clime, 
Sent  by  the  gods  to  bless  a  country  town  ; 
A  pink-cheeked  angel  in  a  muslin  gown. 

II. 
Jack  was  in  love  ;  and  also  much  in  doubt 

(As  thoughtful  lovers  oft  have  been  before), 
If  it  were  better  to  be  in  or  out,  — 

Such  pain  alloyed  his  bliss.     On  reason's  scc*"N 
Perhaps  't  is  equally  a  sin  to  get 
Too  deep  in  love,  in  liquor,  or  in  debt. 

in. 
The  lady  of  his  love,  Miss  Mary  Blank 

(I  call  her  so  to  hide  her  real  name), 
Was  fair  and  twenty,  and  in  social  rank  — 

That  is,  in  riches  —  much  above  her  "flame"? 
The  daughter  of  a  person  who  had  tin, 
Already  won  ;  while  Jack  had  his  to  win. 


54 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


IV. 


Her  father  was  a  lawyer ;  rather  rusty 

In  legal  lore,  but  one  who  well  had  striven 

In  former  days  to  swell  his  "res  angustce" 
To  broad  possessions  ;  and,  in  short,  had  thriven 

Bravely  in  his  vocation  ;  though,  the  fact  is, 

More  by  his  "practices"  ('twas  said)  than  practice  ! 

V. 

A  famous  man  was  Blank  for  sound  advice 
In  doubtful  cases  ;  for  example,  where 

The  point  in  question  is  extremely  nice, 
And  turns  upon  the  section  of  a  hair ; 

Or  where  —  which  seems  a  very  common  pother  — 

Justice  looks  one  way,  and  the  Law  another. 

VI. 

Great  was  his  skill  to  make  or  mar  a  plot ; 

To  prop,  at  need,  a  rotten  reputation, 
Or  undermine  a  good  one  ;  he  had  got 

By  heart  the  subtle  science  of  evasion, 
And  knew  the  useful  art  to  pick  a  flaw 
Through  which  a  rascal  might  escape  the  law. 

VII. 

Jack  was  his  pupil  ;  and  't  is  rather  queer 
So  shrewd  a  counsellor  did  not  discover, 

With  all  his  cunning  both  of  eye  and  ear, 

That  this  same  pupil  was  his  daughter's  lover ; 

And  —  what  would   much   have   shocked   his   legal 
tutor  — 

Was  even  now  the  girl's  accepted  suitor  ! 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 
VIII. 

Fearing  a  non-suit,  if  the  lawyer  knew 

The  case  too  soon,  Jack  kept  it  to  himself; 

And,  stranger  still,  the  lady  kept  it  too  ; 
For  well  he  knew  the  father's  pride  of  pelf, 

Should  e'en  a  bare  suspicion  cross  his  mind, 

Would  soon  abate  the  action  they  designed. 


IX. 

For  Jack  was  impecunious  ;  and  Blank 

Had  small  regard  for  people  who  were  poor ; 

Riches  to  him  were  beauty,  grace,  and  rank : 
In  short,  the  man  was  one  of  many  more 

Who  worship  money-bags  and  those  who  own  'em, 

And  think  a  handsome  sum  the  sumimim  bonum. 


x. 

I  'm  fond  of  civil  words,  and  do  not  wish 
To  be  satirical ;  but  none  despise 

The  poor  so  truly  as  the  nouveaux  richc  ; 
And  here,  no  doubt,  the  real  reason  lies, 

That  being  over-proud  of  what  they  are, 

They  're  naturally  ashamed  of  what  they  were. 


XI. 

Certain  to  meet  the  father's  cold  negation, 
Jack  dare  not  ask  him  for  his  daughter's  hand 

What  should  he  do  ?     'T  was  surely  an  occasion 
For  all  the  wit  a  lover  might  command  ; 

At  last  he  chose  (it  seemed  his  only  hope) 

That  final  card  of  Cupid,  —  to  elope  ! 


55 


56  LOVE  AND  LAW. 

XII. 
A  pretty  plan  to  please  a  penny-a-liner  ; 

But  far  less  pleasant  for  the  leading  factor, 
Should  the  fair  maiden  chance  to  be  a  minor 

(Whom  the  law  reckons  an  unwilling  actor), 
And  here  Jack  found  a  rather  sad  obstruction,  — 
He  might  be  caught  and  punished  for  abduction. 

XIII. 

What  could  he  do  ?     Well,  —  here  is  what  he  did, 
As  a  "  moot-case  "  to  Lawyer  Blank  he  told 

The  whole  affair,  save  that  the  names  were  hid  ; 
I  can't  help  thinking  it  was  rather  bold, 

But  Love  is  partial  to  heroic  schemes, 

And  often  proves  much  wiser  than  he  seems. 

XIV. 

"  The  thing  is  safe  enough,  with  proper  care," 

Observed    the    lawyer,    smiling.      "  Here 's    your 
course : — 

Just  let  the  lady  manage  the  affair 

Throughout ;    Videlicet,  she  gets  the  horse, 

And  mounts  him,  unassisted,  first j  but  mind, 

The  woman  sits  before,  and  you,  behind  ! 

xv. 
"Then  who  is  the  abductor?  —  Just  suppose 

A  court  and  jury  looking  at  the  case  ; 
What  ground  of  action  do  the  facts  disclose  ? 

They  find  a  horse,  —  two  riders,  —  and  a  rate,  — 
And  you  '  Not  Guilty' ;  for  't  is  clearly  true 
The  dashing  damsel  ran  away  with  you  ! " 

XVT. 

***** 


RHYME   OF  THE  RAIL. 


57 


XVII. 

These  social  sins  are  often  rather  grave  ; 

I  give  such  deeds  no  countenance  of  mine ; 
Nor  can  I  say  the  father  e'er  forgave  ; 

But  that  was  surely  a  propitious  "  sign," 
On  which  (in  after  years)  the  words  I  saw 
Were,  "BLANK  AND  NEWMAN,  COUNSELLORS  AT 
LAW  ! " 


RHYME    OF    THE    RAIL. 

SINGING  through  the  forests, 
Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale,  — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 
Riding  on  the  Rail ! 

Men  of  different  "  stations  " 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall ; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small ; 


RHYME   OF  THE  RAIL. 

Gentleman  in  tights, 
With  a  loose-ish  mien ; 

Gentleman  in  gray, 
Looking  rather  green.  • 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news  ; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  fit  of  blues  ; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar  ; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor ! 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker, 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith,  he 's  got  the  KNICKER- 
BOCKER Magazine  ! 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers  ; 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers  ; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "  Association  " ! 

Ancient  maiden  lady 
Anxiously  remarks, 


RHYME   OF  THE  RAIL.  59 

That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks  ! 
Roguish-looking  fellow, 

Turning  to  the  stranger, 
Says  it 's  his  opinion 

She  is  out  of  danger  ! 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vis-a-vis ; 
Baby  keeps  a  squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me  ; 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it 's  tiresome  talking, 
Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shocking  ! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket ; 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely  ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  ; 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail ! 


60  THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER. 


THE    BRIEFLESS    BARRISTER. 

A   BALLAD. 

AN  Attorney  was  taking  a  turn, 
In  shabby  habiliments  drest ; 
His  coat  it  was  shockingly  worn, 
And  the  rust  had  invested  his  vest. 

His  breeches  had  suffered  a  breach, 
His  linen  and  worsted  were  worse ; 

He  had  scarce  a  whole  crown  in  his  hat, 
And  not  half  a  crown  in  his  purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along, 
A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf, 

He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song, 

Or  complainingly  talked  to  himself :  — 

"  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am  ! 
.  I  've  never  a  client  but  grief: 
The  case  is,  I  've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I  Ve  ne'er  had  a  brief ! 

"  I  Ve  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 
Expecting  an  'opening'  to  find, 

Where  an  honest  young  lawyer  might  gain 
Some  reward  for  toil  of  his  mind. 

"  'T  is  not  that  I  'm  wanting  in  law, 

Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 
That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 

While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 


THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER.  6 1 

"  O,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 

E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  progression,  — 

The  profession  's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers  so  full  of  profession  ! " 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around, 

His  eye  accidentally  fell 
On  a  very  deep  hole  in  the  ground, 

And  he  sighed  to  himself,  "  It  is  well !  " 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 

On  the  curbstone  the  space  of  a  minute, 
Then  cried,  "  Here  's  an  opening  at  last ! " 

And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it ! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 
('T  was  the  coroner  bade  them  attend), 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man  had  determined  his  end  ! 

"  The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear," 

Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on  the  corse. 

"  A  lawyer  ?     Alas  ! "  said  another, 
"  Undoubtedly  died  of  remorse ! " 

A  third  said,  "He  knew  the  deceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the  laws, 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 

'T  was  no  doubt  for  the  want  of  a  cause." 

The  jury  decided  at  length, 

After  solemnly  weighing  the  matter, 

That  the  lawyer  was  drovvnrtfed,  because 
He  could  not  keep  his  head  above  water  ! 


62  LITTLE  JERRY,    THE  MILLER. 

LITTLE    JERRY,    THE    MILLER.* 

A  BALLAD. 

T)  ENEATH  the  hill  you  may  see  the  mill 
-L'     Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling  stone  ; 
The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clattering  still, 
But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and  gone. 

Year  after  year,  early  and  late, 
'  Alike  in  summer  and  winter  weather, 
He  pecked  the  stones  and  calked  the  gate, 
And  mill  and  miller  grew  old  together. 

"  Little  Jerry ! "  -  -  't  was  all  the  same,  — 
They  loved  him  well  who  called  him  so ; 

And  whether  he  'd  ever  another  name, 
Nobody  ever  seemed  to  know. 

'T  was,  "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my  rye  "  ; 

And,  "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my  wheat" ; 
And  "  Little  Jerry  "  was  still  the  cry, 

From  matron  bold  and  maiden  sweet. 

'T  was  "  Little  Jerry  "  on  every  tongue, 

And  so  the  simple  truth  was  told ; 
For  Jerry  was  little  when  he  was  young, 

And  Jerry  was  little  when  he  was  old. 

*  Perhaps  it  may  add  a  trifle  to  the  interest  of  this  ballad  to  know  that 
the  description,  both  of  the  man  and  the  mill,  is  quite  true.  "  Little 
Jerry" — a  diminutive  Frenchman  of  remarkable  strength,  wit,  and 
good-nature  —  was  for  many  years  my  father's  miller  in  Highgate,  Ver- 
mont. His  surname  was  written  "  Goodheart"  in  the  mill-books  ;  but  he 
often  told  me  that  our  English  translation  was  quite  too  weak,  as  the  real 
name  was  spelled  "  Fortboncoeur." 


LITTLE  JERRY,    THE  MILLER.  63 

But  what  in  size  he  chanced  to  lack, 
That  Jerry  made  up  in  being  strong  ; 

I  've  seen  a  sack  upon  his  back 
As  thick  as  the  miller,  and  quite  as  long. 

Always  busy,  and  always  merry, 

Always  doing  his  very  best, 
A  notable  wag  was  Little  Jerry, 

Who  uttered  well  his  standing  jest. 

How  Jerry  lived  is  known  to  fame, 

But  how  he  died  there  's  none  may  know ; 

One  autumn  day  the  rumor  came, 
"  The  brook  and  Jerry  are  very  low." 

And  then  't  was  whispered,  mournfully, 
The  leech  had  come,  and  he  was  dead ; 

And  all  the  neighbors  flocked  to  see  ; 
"  Poor  Little  Jerry  !  "   was  all  they  said. 

They  laid  him  in  his  earthy  bed,  — 

His  miller's  coat  his  only  shroud  ; 
"Dust  to  dust,"  the  parson  said, 

And  all  the  people  wept  aloud. 

For  he  had  shunned  the  deadly  sin, 

And  not  a  grain  of  over-toll 
Had  ever  dropped  into  his  bin, 

To  weigh  upon  his  parting  soul. 

Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the  mill, 
Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling  stone  ; 

The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clattering  still, 
But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and  gone. 


64  HOW  CYRUS  LAID    THE  CABLE. 

HOW    CYRUS    LAID    THE    CABLE. 

A  BALLAD. 

COME,  listen  all  unto  my  song; 
It  is  no  silly  fable  ; 
'T  is  all  about  the  mighty  cord 
They  call  the  Atlantic  Cable. 

Bold  Cyrus  Field  he  said,  says  he, 

I  have  a  pretty  notion 
That  I  can  run  a  telegraph 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Then  all  the  people  laughed,  and  said, 

They  'd  like  to  see  him  do  it ; 
He  might  get  half-seas-over,  but 

He  never  could  go  through  it ; 

To  carry  out  his  foolish  plan 

He  never  would  be  able  ; 
He  might  as  well  go  hang  himself 

With  his  Atlantic  Cable. 

But  Cyrus  was  a  valiant  man, 

A  fellow  of  decision  ; 
And  heeded  not  their  mocking  words, 

Their  laughter  and  derision. 

Twice  did  his  bravest  efforts  fail, 

And  yet  his  mind  was  stable  ; 
He  wa'n't  the  man  to  break  his  heart 

Because  he  broke  his  cable. 


HOW  CYRUS  LAID    THE  CABLE.  65 

"  Once  more,  my  gallant  boys  ! "  he  cried  ; 

"  Three  times  !  —  you  know  the  fable,  — 
(I  '11  make  it  thirty"  muttered  he, 

"  But  I  will  lay  the  cable  !  ") 

Once  more  they  tried,  —  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

What  means  this  great  commotion  ? 
The  Lord  be  praised  !  the  cable  's  laid 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  ! 

Loud  ring  the  bells,  —  for,  flashing  through 

Six  hundred  leagues  of  water, 
Old  Mother  England's  benison 

Salutes  her  eldest  daughter ! 

O'er  all  the  land  the  tidings  speed, 

And  soon,  in  every  nation, 
They  '11  hear  about  the  cable  with 

Profoundest  admiration ! 

Now  long  live  President  and  Queen  ; 

And  long  live  gallant  Cyrus  ; 
And  may  his  courage,  faith,  and  zeal 

With  emulation  fire  us  ; 

And  may  we  honor  evermore 

The  manly,  bold,  and  stable  ; 
And  tell  our  sons,  to  make  them  brave, 

How  Cyrus  laid  the  cable  ! 


66         WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF  THE   GODS. 


WHAT   HAS   BECOME   OF   THE   GODS. 

FULL  often  I  had  heard  it  said, 
As  something  quite  uncontroverted, 
"  The  gods  and  goddesses  are  dead, 
And  high  Olympus  is  deserted"; 
And  so,  while  thinking  of  the  gods, 
I  made,  one  night,  an  exploration, 
(In  fact  or  fancy,  —  where  's  the  odds  ?) 
To  get  authentic  information. 

I  found  —  to  make  a  true  report, 

As  if  I  were  a  sworn  committee  — 
They  all  had  left  the  upper  court, 

And  settled  in  Manhattan  city  ; 
Where  now  they  live,  as  best  they  may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 
And  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 

In  human  frames,  for  safe  disguise, 

They  come  and  go  through  wooden  portals, 
And  to  the  keen  Detective's  eyes 

Seem  nothing  more  than  common  mortals  ; 
For  mortal-like  they  're  clad  and  fed, 

And,  still  to  blind  the  sharp  inspector, 
Eat,  for  ambrosia,  baker's  bread, 

And  tipple  —  everything  but  nectar. 

Great  Jove,  who  wore  the  kingly  crown,   • 
And  used  to  make  Olympus  rattle, 

As  if  the  sky  was  coming  down, 
Or  all  the  Titans  were  in  battle,  — 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF  THE   GODS.       67 

Is  now  a  sorry  playhouse  wight, 

Content  to  make  the  groundlings  wonder, 

And  earn  some  shillings  every  night, 
By  coining  cheap  theatric  thunder. 

Apollo,  who  in  better  times 

Was  poet-laureate  of  th'  Elysians, 
And,  adding  medicine  to  rhymes, 

Was  chief  among  the  court  physicians, 
Now  cures  disease  of  every  grade,  — 

Ludncfs  cares  and  CnpicPs  curses,  — 
And,  still  to  ply  his  double  trade, 

Bepuffs  his  pills  in  doggerel  verses  ! 

Minerva,  famous  in  her  day 

For  wit  and  war,  —  though  often  shocking 
The  gods  by  overmuch  display 

Of  what  they  called  her  azure  stocking,  — 
Now  deals  in  books  of  ancient  kind 

(Where  Learning  soars  and  Fancy  grovels), 
And,  to  indulge  her  warlike  mind, 

Writes  very  sanguinary  novels. 

And  Venus,  who  on  Ida's  seat 

In  myrtle-groves  her  charms  paraded, 
Displays  her  beauty  in  the  street, 

And  seems,  indeed,  a  little  faded  ; 
She  's  dealing  in  the  clothing-line 

(If  at  her  word  you  choose  to  take  her). 
In  Something  Square  you  read  the  sign  :  — 

"  Miss  CYTHEREA,  MANTUAMAKER." 

Mars  figures  still  as  god  of  war, 
But  not  with  spear  and  iron  hanger, 


68       WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF  THE   GODS. 

Erect  upon  the  ponderous  car 

That  rolled  along  with  fearful  clangor, — • 
Ah  !  no  ;  of  sword  and  spear  bereft, 

He  stands  beside  his  bottle-holder, 
And  plumps  his  right,  and  plants  his  left, 

And  strikes  directly  from  the  shoulder. 

And  Bacchus,  reared  among  the  vines 

That  flourished  in  the  fields  Elysian, 
And  ruddy  with  the  rarest  wines 

That  ever  flashed  upon  the  vision,  — 
A  licensed  liquor-dealer  now, 

Sits  pale  and  thin  from  over-dosing 
With  whiskey,  made  —  the  deuce  knows  how, 

And  brandy  of  his  own  composing. 

And  cunning  Mercury,  —  what  d'  ye  think 

Is  now  the  nimble  rogue's  condition? 
Of  course  't  was  but  a  step,  to  sink 

From  Peter  Funk  to  politician  ; 
Though  now  he  neither  steals  nor  robs, 

But  just  secures  a  friend's  election, 
And  lives  and  thrives  on  little  jobs 

Connected  with  the  Street  Inspection. 

Thus  all  the  gods,  in  deep  disguise, 

Go  in  and  out  of  wooden  portals, 
And,  to  the  sharpest  human  eyes, 

Seem  nothing  more  than  common  mortals. 
And  so  they  live,  as  best  they  may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 
And,  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 


THE   COLD-WATER  MAN.  69 

THE    COLD-WATER    MAN. 

A   BALLAD. 

T  T  was  an  honest  fisherman, 
-*-      I  knew  him  passing  well,  — 
And  he  lived  by  a  little  pond, 
Within  a  little  dell. 

A  grave  and  quiet  man  was  he, 

Who  loved  his  hook  and  rod,  — 
So  even  ran  his  line  of  life, 

His  neighbors  thought  it  odd. 

For  science  and  for  books,  he  said 

He  never  had  a  wish,  — 
No  school  to  him  was  worth  a  fig, 

Except  a  school  of  fish. 

He  ne'er  aspired  to  rank  or  wealth, 

Nor  cared  about  a  name,  — 
For  though  much  famed  for  fish  was  he, 

He  never  fished  for  fame. 

Let  others  bend  their  necks  at  sight 

Of  Fashion's  gilded  wheels, 
He  ne'er  had  learned  the  art  to  "  bob  " 

For  anything  but  eels. 

A  cunning  fisherman  was  he, 

His  angles  all  were  right ; 
The  smallest  nibble  at  his  bait 

Was  sure  to  prove  "  a  bite"  ! 


70  THE   COLD-WATER  MAN. 

All  day  this  fisherman  would  sit 

Upon  an  ancient  log, 
And  gaze  into  the  water,  like 

Some  sedentary  frog ; 

With  all  the  seeming  innocence, 
And  that  unconscious  look, 

That  other  people  often  wear 
When  they  intend  to  "hook"! 

To  charm  the  fish  he  never  spoke,  — 

Although  his  voice  was  fine, 
He  found  the  most  convenient  way 
_  Was  just  to  drop  a  line. 

And  many  a  gudgeon  of  the  pond, 
If  they  could  speak  to-day, 

Would  own,  with  grief,  this  angler  had 
A  mighty  taking  way. 

Alas  !  one  day  this  fisherman 
Had  taken  too  much  grog, 

And  being  but  a  landsman,  too, 
He  could  n't  keep  the  log. 

'T  was  all  in  vain  with  might  and  main 
He  strove  to  reach  the  shore  ; 

Down  —  down  he  went,  to  feed  the  fish 
He  'd  baited  oft  before. 

The  jury  gave  their  verdict  that 
'T  was  nothing  else  but  gin 

Had  caused  the  fisherman  to  be 
So  sadly  taken  in ; 


COMIC  MISERIES. 

Though  one  stood  out  upon  a  whim, 
And  said  the  angler's  slaughter, 

To  be  exact  about  the  fact, 
Was,  clearly,  gin-and-water  / 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale, 

To  all  is  plain  and  clear,  — 
That  drinking  habits  bring  a  man 

Too  often  to  his  bier ; 

And  he  who  scorns  to  "  take  the  pledge, 

And  keep  the  promise  fast, 
May  be,  in  spite  of  fate,  a  stiff 

Cold-water  man  at  last ! 


COMIC    MISERIES. 


T\  /T  Y  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 
IT-*-      Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself  "a  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways  ; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  ! 

II. 
You  're  at  an  evening  party,  with 

A  group  of  pleasant  folks,  — 
You  venture  quietly  to  crack 

The  least  of  little  jokes : 


COMIC  MISERIES. 

A  lady  does  n't  catch  the  point, 

And  begs  you  to  explain,  — 
Alas  for  one  who  drops  a  jest 

And  takes  it  up  again  ! 

in. 
You  're  talking  deep  philosophy 

With  very  special  force, 
To  edify  a  clergyman 

With  suitable  discourse : 
You  think  you  've  got  him,  —  when  he  calls 

A  friend  across  the  way, 
And  begs  you  '11  say  that  funny  thing 

You  said  the  other  day  ! 

IV. 

You  drop  a  pretty  jeu-de-mot 

Into  a  neighbor's  ears, 
Who  likes  to  give  you  credit  for 

The  clever  thing  he  hears, 
And  so  he  hawks  your  jest  about, 

The  old,  authentic  one, 
Just  breaking  off  the  point  of  it, 

And  leaving  out  the  pun  ! 

v. 
By  sudden  change  in  politics, 

Or  sadder  change  in  Polly, 
You  lose  your  love,  or  loaves,  and  fall 

A  prey  to  melancholy, 
While  everybody  marvels  why 

Your  mirth  is  under  ban,  — 
They  think  your  very  grief  "  a  joke," 

You  're  such  a  funny  man ! 


COMIC  MISERIES. 

VI. 

You  follow  up  a  stylish  card 

That  bids  you  come  and  dine, 
And  bring  along  your  freshest  wit 

(To  pay  for  musty  wine)  ; 
You  're  looking  very  dismal,  when 

My  lady  bounces  in, 
And  wonders  what  you  're  thinking  of, 

And  why  you  don't  begin  ! 

VII. 

You  're  telling  to  a  knot  of  friends 

A  fancy-tale  of  woes 
That  cloud  your  matrimonial  sky, 

And  banish  all  repose,  — 
A  solemn  lady  overhears 

The  story  of  your  strife, 
And  tells  the  town  the  pleasant  news  :  — 

You  quarrel  with  your  wife  ! 

VIII. 
My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself  "  a  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways  ; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  ! 


73 


74  ^    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 


A    CONNUBIAL    ECLOGUE. 

"  Arcades  ambo, 
Et  cantare  pares  et  respondere  parati." 

VIRGIL. 
HE. 

MUCH  lately  have  I  thought,  my  darling  wife, 
Some  simple  rules  might  make  our  wedded  life 
As  pleasant  always  as  a  morn  in  May  ; 
I  merely  name  it,  —  what  does  Molly  say  ? 

SHE. 

Agreed  :  your  plan  I  heartily  approve  ; 

Rules  would  be  nice,  —  but  who  shall  make  them,  love  ? 

Nay,  do  not  speak  !  — let  this  the  bargain  be, 

One  shall  be  made  by  you,  and  one  by  me, 

Till  all  are  done  — 

HE. 

—  Your  plan  is  surely  fair, 
In  such  a  work  't  is  fitting  we  should  share  ; 
And  now  —  although  it  matters  not  a  pin  — 
If  you  have  no  objection,  I  '11  begin. 

SHE. 

Proceed  !     In  making  laws  I  'm  little  versed ; 
And  as  to  words,  I  do  not  mind  the  first ; 
I  only  claim  —  and  hold  the  treasure  fast  — 
My  sex's  sacred  privilege,  the  last  J 

HE. 

With  all  my  heart.     Well,  dearest,  to  begin  :  — 
When  by  our  cheerful  hearth  our  friends  drop  in, 


A    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE.  75 

And  I  am  talking  in  my  brilliant  style 
(The  rest  with  rapture  listening  the  while) 
About  the  war,  —  or  anything,  in  short, 
That  you  're  aware  is  my  especial  forte,  — 
Pray  don't  get  up  a  circle  of  your  own, 
And  talk  of — bonnets,  in  an  undertone  ! 

SHE. 

That 's  Number  One  ;  I  '11  mind  it  well,  if  you 

Will  do  as  much,  my  dear,  by  Number  Two : 

When  we  attend  a  party  or  a  ball, 

Don't  leave  your  Molly  standing  by  the  wall, 

The  helpless  victim  of  the  dreariest  bore 

That  ever  walked  upon  a  parlor-floor, 

While  you  —  oblivious  of  your  spouse's  doom  — 

Flirt  with  the  girls,  —  the  gayest  in  the  room  ! 

HE. 

When  I  (although  the  busiest  man  alive) 

Have  snatched  an  hour  to  take  a  pleasant  drive, 

And  say,  "  Remember,  at  precisely  four 

You  '11  find  the  carriage  ready  at  the  door," 

Don't  keep  me  waiting  half  an  hour  or  so, 

And  then  declare,  "  The  clock  must  be  too  slow  !  " 

SHE. 

When  you  (such  things  have  happened  now  and  then) 

Go  to  the  Club  with,  "  I  '11  be  back  at  ten," 

And  stay  till  two  o'clock,  you  need  n't  say, 

"  I  really  was  the  first  to  come  away ; 

'T  is  very  strange  how  swift  the  time  has  passed  : 

I  'm  sure,  my  dear,  the  clock  must  be  too  fast .' " 


76  SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 

HE. 

There  —  that  will  do  ;  what  else  remains  to  say 
We  may  consider  at  a  future  day  ; 
I  'm  getting  sleepy  —  and  —  if  you  have  done  — 


SHE. 

Not  I  !  —  this  making  rules  is  precious  fun  ; 
Now  here  's  another :  —  When  you  paint  to  me 
"  That  charming  woman  "  you  are  sure  to  see, 
Don't  —  when  you  praise  the  virtues  she  has  got  — 
Name  only  those  you  think  your  wife  has  not ! 
And  here 's  a  rule  I  hope  you  won't  forget, 
The  most  important  I  have  mentioned  yet,  — 
Pray  mind  it  well :  —  Whenever  you  incline 
To  bring  your  queer  companions  home  to  dine, 
Suppose,  my  dear,  —  Good  Gracious  !  he  's  asleep  ! 
Ah  !  well,  —  't  is  lucky  good  advice  will  keep  ; 
And  he  shall  have  it,  or,  upon  my  life, 
I  Ve  not  the  proper  spirit  of  a  wife ! 


SOME    PENCIL-PICTURES: 

TAKEN   AT  SARATOGA. 


"VTOUR  novel-writers  make  their  ladies  tall; 
-*•       I  mean  their  heroines  ;  as  if,  indeed, 
It  were  a  fatal  failing  to  be  small. 

In  this,  I  own,  we  are  not  well  agreed,  — 
I  like  a  little  woman,  if  she 's  pretty, 
Modest  and  clever,  sensible  and  witty. 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES.  77 

II. 
And  such  is  she  who  sits  beside  me ;  fair 

As  her  deportment ;  mine  is  not  the  pen 
To  paint  the  glory  of  her  Saxon  hair, 

And  eyes  of  heavenly  azure  !     There  are  men 
Who  doat  on  raven  tresses,  and  are  fond 
Of  dark  complexions,  —  I  adore  a  blonde  ! 

III. 
There  sits  a  woman  of  another  type  ; 

Superb  in  figure  and  of  stately  size  ; 
An  Amazonian  beauty  round  and  ripe 

As  Cytherea,  —  with  delicious  eyes 
That  laugh  or  languish  with  a  shifting  hue 
Somewhat  between  a  hazel  and  a  blue. 

IV. 
Across  the  room  —  to  please  a  daintier  taste  — 

A  slender  damsel  flits  with  fairy  tread  ; 
A  lover's  hand  might  span  her  little  waist, 

If  so  inclined,  —  that  is,  if  they  were  wed. 
Some  youths  admire  those  fragile  forms,  I  've  heard  ; 
I  never  saw  the  man,  upon  my  word  ! 

v. 
But  styles  of  person,  though  they  please  me  more, 

(As  Nature's  work)  excite  my  wonder  less 
Than  all  my  curious  vision  may  explore 

In  moods  and  manners,  equipage  and  dress  ; 
The  last  alone  were  theme  enough,  indeed, 
For  more  than  I  could  write,  or  you  would  read. 

VI. 

Swift  satirized  mankind  with  little  ruth, 

And  womankind  as  well ;  but  we  must  own 


78  SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 

His  words  of  censure  oft  are  very  truth,  — 

For  instance,  where  the  satirist  has  shown 
How  —  thankless  for  the  gifts  which  they  have  got  — 
All  strive  to  show  the  talents  they  —  have  not ! 

VII. 

Thus  (it  is  written)  Frederick  the  Great 
Cared  little  for  the  battles  he  had  fought, 

But  listened  eagerly  and  all-elate 

To  hear  a  courtier  praise  the  style  and  thought 

That  graced  his  Sonnets  ;  though  in  fact,  his  verse 

(I  Ve  tried  to  read  it)  could  n't  well  be  worse  ! 

VIII. 

The  like  absurd  ambition  you  may  note 
In  fashionable  women.     Look  you  there  ! 

Observe  an  arm  which  all  (but  she)  must  vote 
Extremely  ugly,  —  so  she  keeps  it  bare 

(Lest  so  much  beauty  should  escape  the  light) 

From  wrist  to  shoulder,  morning,  noon,  and  night ! 

IX. 

Observe  again  (the  girl  who  stands  alone) 

How  Pride  reveals  what  Prudence  would  suppress  ; 

A  mere  anatomy  of  skin-and-bone,  — 
She  wears,  perversely,  a  decollete  dress  ! 

Those  tawny  angles  seek  no  friendly  screen, 

But  court  the  day,  and  glory  to  be  seen ! 

x. 

O  Robert  Burns  !  if  such  a  thing  might  be, 

That  all  by  ignorance  or  folly  blind, 
For  once  should  "  see  themselves  as  others  see," 

(As  thou  didst  pray  for  hapless  human  kind,) 
What  startled  crowds  would  madly  rush  to  hide 
The  dearest  objects  of  their  fondest  pride  ! 


BOYS.  79 


BOYS. 

"  r  I  ^HE  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,"  — 

-*-     The  most  perplexing  one,  no  doubt,  is  woman, 
The  subtlest  study  that  the  mind  can  scan, 
Of  all  deep  problems,  heavenly  or  human ! 

But  of  all  studies  in  the  round  of  learning, 
From  nature's  marvels  down  to  human  toys, 
To  minds  well  fitted  for  acute  discerning, 
The  very  queerest  one  is  that  of  boys ! 

If  to  ask  questions  that  would  puzzle  Plato, 
And  all  the  schoolmen  of  the  Middle  Age,  — 
If  to  make  precepts  worthy  of  old  Cato, 
Be  deemed  philosophy,  your  boy 's  a  sage  ! 

If  the  possession  of  a  teeming  fancy, 
(Although,  forsooth,  the  younker  docs  n't  know  it,) 
Which  he  can  use  in  rarest  necromancy, 
Be  thought  poetical,  your  boy  's  a  poet ! 

If  a  strong  will  and  most  courageous  bearing, 
If  to  be  cruel  as  the  Roman  Nero  ; 
If  all  that 's  chivalrous,  and  all  that 's  daring, 
Can  make  a  hero,  then  the  boy 's  a  hero  ! 

But  changing  soon  with  his  increasing  stature, 
The  boy  is  lost  in  manhood's  riper  age, 
And  with  him  goes  his  former  triple  nature,  — 
No  longer  Poet,  Hero,  now,  nor  Sage  ! 


go  THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 


THE    SUPERFLUOUS    MAN. 

"  It  is  ascertained  by  inspection  of  the  registers  of  many  countries,  that 
the  uniform  proportion  of  male  to  female  births  is  as  21  to  20 :  accordingly, 
in  respect  to  marriage,  every  2ist  man  is  naturally  superfluous."  —  TREA- 
TISE ON  POPULATION. 

T    LONG  have  been  puzzled  to  guess, 
-*-     And  so  I  have  frequently  said, 
What  the  reason  could  really  be 

That  I  never  have  happened  to  wed  ; 
But  now  it  is  perfectly  clear 

I  am  under  a  natural  ban  ; 
The  girls  are  already  assigned,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

Those  clever  statistical  chaps 

Declare  the  numerical  run 
Of  women  and  men  in  the  world, 

Is  Twenty  to  Twenty-and-one  ; 
And  hence  in  the  pairing,  you  see, 

Since  wooing  and  wedding  began, 
For  every  connubial  score, 

They  've  got  a  superfluous  man ! 

By  twenties  and  twenties  they  go, 

And  giddily  rush  to  their  fate, 
For  none  of  the  number,  of  course, 

Can  fail  of  a  conjugal  mate  ; 
But  while  they  are  yielding  in  scores 

To  Nature's  inflexible  plan, 
There 's  never  a  woman  for  me,  — 

For  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 


THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  a  churl, 

To  solitude  over-inclined ; 
It  is  n't  that  I  am  at  fault 

In  morals  or  manners  or  mind; 
Then  what  is  the  reason,  you  ask, 

I  'm  still  with  the  bachelor-clan  ? 
I  merely  was  numbered  amiss,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  in  want 

Of  personal  beauty  or  grace, 
For  many  a  man  with  a  wife 

Is  uglier  far  in  the  face ; 
Indeed,  among  elegant  men 

I  fancy  myself  in  the  van  ; 
But  what  is  the  value  of  that, 

When  I  'in  a  superfluous  man  ? 

Although  I  am  fond  of  the  girls, 

For  aught  I  could  ever  discern 
The  tender  emotion  I  feel 

Is  one  that  they  never  return ; 
'T  is  idle  to  quarrel  with  fate, 

For,  struggle  as  hard  as  I  can, 
They  're  mated  already,  you  know,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 

No  wonder  I  grumble  at  times, 

With  women  so  pretty  and  plenty, 
To  know  that  I  never  was  born 

To  figure  as  one  of  the  Twenty ; 
But  yet,  when  the  average  lot 

With  critical  vision  I  scan, 
I  think  it  may  be  for  the  best 

That  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 


82  TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES. 


TOUJOURS    LES    FEMMES. 

I   THINK  it  was  a  Persian  king 
Who  used  to  say,  that  evermore 
In  human  life  each  evil  thing 

Comes  of  the  sex  that  men  adore ; 
In  brief,  that  nothing  e'er  befell 

To  harm  or  grieve  our  hapless  race, 
But,  if  you  probe  the  matter  well, 
You  '11  find  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 

And  then  the  curious  tale  is  told 

How,  when  upon  a  certain  night 
A  climbing  youngster  lost  his  hold, 

And  falling  from  a  ladder's  height, 
Was  found,  alas  !  next  morning  dead, 

His  Majesty,  with  solemn  face, 
As  was  his  wont,  demurely  said, 

"  Pray,  who 's  the  woman  in  the  case  ? " 

And  how  a  lady  of  his  court, 

Who  deemed  the  royal  whim  absurd, 
Rebuked  him,  while  she  made  report 

Of  the  mischance  that  late  occurred ; 
Whereat  the  king  replied  in  glee, 

"  I  've  heard  the  story,  please  your  Grace, 
And  all  the  witnesses  agree 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 

"  The  truth,  your  Ladyship,  is  this 

(Nor  is  it  marvellous  at  all), 
The  chap  was  climbing  for  a  kiss, 

And  got,  instead,  a  fatal  fall. 


TO U JOURS  LES  FEMMES.  83 

Whene'er  a  man  —  as  I  have  said  — 
Falls  from  a  ladder,  or  from  grace, 

Or  breaks  his  faith,  or  breaks  his  head, 
There  is  a  woman  in  the  case  !  " 

For  such  a  churlish,  carping  creed 

As  that  his-  Majesty  professed, 
I  hold  him  of  unkingly  breed,  — 

Unless,  in  sooth,  he  spoke  in  jest. 
To  me,  few  things  have  come  to  pass 

Of  good  event,  but  I  can  trace,  — 
Thanks  to  the  matron  or  the  lass,  — 

Somewhere,  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Yet  once,  while  gayly  strolling  where 

A  vast  Museum  still  displays 
Its  varied  wealth  of  strange  and  rare, 

To  charm,  or  to  repel,  the  gaze,  — 
I  —  to  a  lady  (who  denied 

The  creed  by  laughing  in  my  face)  — 
Took  up,  for  once,  the  Persian's  side 

About  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Discoursing  thus,  we  came  upon 

A  grim  Egyptian  mummy  —  dead 
Some  centuries  since.     "  'T  is  Pharaoh's  son  — 

Perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  "  —  the  lady  said. 
No  !  —  on  the  black  sarcophagus 

A  female  name  I  stooped  to  trace  ; 
Toujours  les  femmes  !  —  'T  is  ever  thus,  — 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 


84  GIRLHOOD. 

GIRLHOOD. 

WITH  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dancing  curls, 
And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
O,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 
And  goodly  to  the  sight ! 

Here  comes  a  group  to  seek  my  lonely  bower, 

Ere  waning  Autumn  dies  : 
How  like  the  dew-drops  on  a  drooping  flower, 

Are  smiles  from  gentle  eyes  ! 

What  beaming  gladness  lights  each  fairy  face 

The  while  the  elves  advance, 
Now  speeding  swiftly  in  a  gleesome  race, 

Now  whirling  in  a  dance  ! 

What  heavenly  pleasure  o'er  the  spirit  rolls, 

When  all  the  air  along 
Floats  the  sweet  music  of  untainted  souls, 

In  bright,  unsullied  song  ! 

The  sacred  nymphs  that  guard  this  sylvan  ground 

May  sport  unseen  with  these, 
And  joy  to  hear  their  ringing  laugh  resound 

Among  the  clustering  trees  ! 

With  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dancing  curls, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
O,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight ! 


THE   COCKNEY.  85 


THE    COCKNEY. 

T  T  was  in  my  foreign  travel, 
-*-  At  a  famous  Flemish  inn, 
That  I  met  a  stoutish  person 

With  a  very  ruddy  skin  ; 
And  his  hair  was  something  sandy, 

And  was  done  in  knotty  curls, 
And  was  parted  in  the  middle, 

In  the  manner  of  a  girl's. 

He  was  clad  in  checkered  trousers, 

And  his  coat  was  of  a  sort 
To  suggest  a  scanty  pattern, 

It  was  bobbed  so  very  short ; 
And  his  cap  was  very  little, 

Such  as  soldiers  often  use  ; 
And  he  wore  a  pair  of  gaiters, 

And  extremely  heavy  shoes. 

I  addressed  the  man  in  English, 

And  he  answered  in  the  same, 
Though  he  spoke  it  in  a  fashion 

That  I  thought  a  little  lame  ; 
For  the  aspirate  was  missing 

Where  the  latter  should  have  been, 
But  where'er  it  was  n't  wanted, 

He  was  sure  to  put  it  in  ! 

When  I  spoke  with  admiration 
Of  St.  Peter's  mighty  dome, 


86  THE   COCKNEY. 

He  remarked  :  "  'T  is  really  nothing 
To  the  sights  we  'ave  at  'ome  !  " 

And  declared  upon  his  honor,  — 

Though,  of  course,  't  was  very  queer,  • 

That  he  doubted  if  the  Romans 
'Ad  the  ^art  of  making  beer  ! 

When  I  named  the  Colosseum, 

He  observed,  "  'T  is  very  fair ; 
I  mean,  ye  know,  it  would  be, 

If  they  'd  put  it  in  repair ; 
But  what  progress  or  /-improvement 

Can  those  curst  //Italians  'ope 
While  they  're  Sunder  the  dominion 

Of  that  blasted  muff,  the  Pope  ?  " 

Then  we  talked  of  other  countries, 

And  he  said  that  he  had  heard 
That  //americans  spoke  //inglish, 

But  he  deemed  it  quite  /^absurd  ; 
Yet  he  felt  the  deepest  /zinterest 

In  the  missionary  work, 
And  would  like  to  know  if  Georgia 

Was  in  Boston  or  New  York  ! 

When  I  left  the  man-in-gaiters, 

He  was  grumbling,  o'er  his  gin, 
At  the  charges  of  the  hostess 

Of  that  famous  Flemish  inn  ; 
And  he  looked  a  very  Briton, 

(So,  methinks,  I  see  him  still) 
As  he  pocketed  the  candle 

That  was  mentioned  in  the  bill ! 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE.        87 


CAPTAIN   JONES'S   MISADVENTURE. 

I. 

CAPTAIN  JONES  was  five-feet  ten, 
(The  height  of  CHESTERFIELD'S  gentlemen,) 
With  a  manly  breadth  of  shoulder  ; 
And  Captain  JONES  was  straight  and  trim, 
With  nothing  about  him  anywise  slim, 
And  had  for  a  leg  as  perfect  a  limb 
As  ever  astonished  beholder  ! 

II. 

With  a  calf  of  such  a  notable  size, 

'T  would  surely  have  taken  the  highest  prize 

At  any  fair  Fair  in  creation  ; 
'T  was  just  the  leg  for  a  prince  to  sport 
Who  wished  to  stand  at  a  Royal  Court, 

At  the  head  of  Foreign  Leg-ation  ! 

in. 

And  Captain  JONES  had  an  elegant  foot, 
'T  was  just  the  thing  for  his  patent  boot, 

And  could  so  prettily  shove  it, 
'T  was  a  genuine  pleasure  to  see  it  repeat 
In  the  public  walks  the  Milonian  feat 

Of  bearing  the  calf  above  it ! 

IV. 

But  the  Captain's  prominent  personal  charm 
Was  neither  his  foot,  nor  leg,  nor  arm, 

Nor  his  very  distingue  air  ; 
Nor  was  it,  although  you  're  thinking  upon  't, 
The  front  of  his  head,  but  his  head  and  front 

Of  beautiful  coal-black  hair  ! 


8       CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 
V. 

So  very  bright  was  the  gloss  they  had, 
'T  would  have  made  a  rival  raving  mad 

To  look  at  his  raven  curls  ; 
Wherever  he  went,  the  Captain's  hair 
Was  certain  to  fix  the  public  stare, 
And  the  constant  cry  was,  "  I  declare  !  " 
And  "  Did  you  ever  !  "  and  "Just  look  there  ! " 

Among  the  dazzled  girls. 

VI. 

Now  Captain  JONES  was  a  master  bold 

Of  a  merchant-ship  some  dozen  years  old, 

And  every  name  could  have  easily  told, 

(And  never  confound  the  "  hull "  and  the  "  hold,") 

Throughout  her  inventory ; 
And  he  had  travelled  in  foreign  parts, 
And  learned  a  number  of  foreign  arts, 
And  played  the  deuce  with  foreign  hearts, 

As  the  Captain  told  the  story. 

VII. 

He  had  learned  to  chatter  the  French  and  Spanish, 
To  splutter  the  Dutch,  and  mutter  the  Danish, 

In  a  way  that  sounded  oracular ; 
Had  gabbled  among  the  Portuguese, 
And  caught  the  Tartar,  or  rather  a  piece 
Of  "  broken  China,"  it  was  n't  Chinese, 

Any  more  than  his  own  vernacular  ! 

VIII. 

How  Captain  JONES  was  wont  to  shine 
In  the  line  of  ships  !  (not  Ships  of  the  Line,) 
How  he  'd  brag  of  the  water  over  his  wine, 
And  of  woman  over  the  water ! 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE.         89 

And  then,  if  you  credit  the  Captain's  phrase, 
He  was  more  expert  in  such  queer  ways 
As  "  doubling  capes  "  and  "  putting  in  stays," 
Than  any  milliner's  daughter  ! 

IX. 

Now  the  Captain  kept  in  constant  pay 
A  single  Mate,  as  a  Captain  may 
(In  a  nautical,  not  in  a  naughty  way, 

As  "  mates  "  are  sometimes  carried) ; 
But  to  hear  him  prose  of  the  squalls  that  arose 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  to  break  his  repose, 
Of  white-caps  and  cradles,  and  such  things  as  those, 
And  of  breezes  that  ended  in  regular  blows, 

You  'd  have  sworn  the  Captain  was  married  ! 

X. 

The  Captain's  morals  were  fair  enough, 
Though  a  sailor's  life  is  rather  rough, 

By  dint  of  the  ocean's  force  ; 
And  that  one  who  makes  so  many,  in  ships, 
Should  make,  upon  shore,  occasional  "  trips," 

Seems  quite  a  matter  of  course. 

XI. 

And  Captain  JONES  was  stiff  as  a  post 
To  the  vulgar  fry,  but  among  the  most 
Genteel  and  polished,  ruled  the  roast, 
As  no  professional  cook  could  boast 

That  ever  you  set  your  eye  on  ; 
Indeed,  't  was  enough  to  make  him  vain, 
For  the  pretty  and  proud  confessed  his  reign, 
And  Captain  JONES,  in  manners  and  mane, 

Was  deemed  a  genuine  lion. 


o        CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 
XII. 

And  the  Captain  revelled  early  and  late,  • 
At  the  balls  and  routs  of  the  rich  and  great, 
And  seemed  the  veriest  child  of  fetes, 

Though  merely  a  minion  of  pleasure  ; 
And  he  laughed  with  the  girls  in  merry  sport, 
And  paid  the  mammas  the  civilest  court, 
And  drank  their  wine,  whatever  the  sort, 
By  the  nautical  rule  of  "  Any  port  — 

You  may  add  the  rest  at  leisure. 


XIII. 

Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  was  a  dashing  girl 
As  ever  revolved  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 
Or  twinkled  a  foot  in  the  polka's  twirl, 

By  the  glare  of  spermaceti ; 
And  SUSAN'S  form  was  trim  and  slight, 
And  her  beautiful  skin,  as  if  in  spite 
Of  her  dingy  name,  was  exceedingly  white, 
And  her  azure  eyes  were  "  sparkling  and  bright," 

And  so  was  her  favorite  ditty. 

XIV. 

And  SUSAN  BROWN  had  a  score  of  names, 
Like  the  very  voluminous  Mr.  JAMES 
(Who  got  at  the  Font  his  strongest  claims 

To  be  reckoned  a  Man  of  Letters) ; 
But  thinking  the  task  will  hardly  please 
Scholars  who  Ve  taken  the  higher  degrees, 
To  be  set  repeating  their  A,  B,  C's, 
I  choose  to  reject  such  fetters  as  these,' 

Though  merely  Nominal  fetters. 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE.        gi 

XV. 

The  patrdftymical  name  of  the  maid 
Was  so  completely  overlaid 

With  a  long  praenominal  cover, 
That  if  each  additional  proper  noun 
Was  laid  with  additional  emphasis  down, 
Miss  SUSAN  was  done  uncommonly  BROWN, 

The  moment  her  christ'ning  was  over  ! 

XVI. 

And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  modern  romance, 

In  the  Modes  of  MURRAY  and  Modes  of  France, 

And  had  learned  to  sing  and  learned  to  dance. 

In  a  style  decidedly  pretty  ; 
And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  classical  lore, 
In  the  works  of  HORACE,  and  several  more 
Whose  opera  now  would  be  voted  a  bore 

By  the  lovers  of  DONIZETTI. 

XVII. 

And  SUSAN  was  rich.     Her  provident  sire 
Had  piled  the  dollars  up  higher  and  higher, 

By  dint  of  his  personal  labors, 
Till  he  reckoned  at  last  a  sufficient  amount 
To  be  counted,  himself,  a  man  of  account 

Among  his  affluent  neighbors. 

XVIII. 

By  force  of  careful  culture  alone, 

Old  BROWN'S  estate  had  rapidly  grown 

A  plum  for  his  only  daughter ; 
And,  after  all  the  fanciful  dreams 
Of  golden  fountains  and  golden  streams, 
The  sweat  of  patient  labor  seems 

The  true  Pactolian' water. 


9 2        CAPTAIN  JONES 'S  MISADVENTURE. 

XIX. 

And  while  your  theorist  worries  his  mind* 
In  hopes  the  magical  stone  to  find, 

By  some  alchemical  gammon, 
Practical  people,  by  regular  knocks, 
Are  filling  their  "  pockets  full  of  rocks  " 

From  the  golden  mountain  of  Mammon  ! 

xx. 

With  charms  like  these,  you  may  well  suppose 
Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  had  plenty  of  beaux, 

Breathing  nothing  but  passion  ; 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  to  gain, 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  in  vain, 
Were  "  cut,"  and  did  n't  "  come  again," 

In  the  Ordinary  fashion. 

XXI. 

Captain  JONES,  by  the  common  voice, 

At  length  was  voted  the  man  of  her  choice, 

And  she  his  favorite  fair ; 
It  was  n't  the  Captain's  manly  face, 
His  native  sense,  nor  foreign  grace, 
That  took  her  heart  from  its  proper  place 
And  put  it  into  a  tenderer  case, 

But  his  beautiful  coal-black  hair ! 

XXII. 

How  it  is,  why  it  is,  none  can  tell, 
But  all  philosophers  know  full  well, 

Though  puzzled  about  the  action, 
That  of  all  the  forces  under  the  sun 
You  can  hardly  find  a  stronger  one 

Than  capillary  attraction. 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE.        93 

XXIII. 

The  locks  of  canals  are  strong  as  rocks ; 

And  wedlock  is  strong  as  a  banker's  box  ; 

And  there  's  strength  in  the  locks  a  Cockney  cocks 

At  innocent  birds,  to  give  himself  knocks  ; 

In  the  locks  of  safes,  and  those  safety-locks 

They  call  the  Permutation  ; 
But  of  all  the  locks  that  ever  were  made 
In  Nature's  shops,  or  the  shops  of  trade, 

The  subtlest  combination 
Of  beauty  and  strength  is  found  in  those 
Which  grace  the  heads  of  belles  and  beaux 

In  every  civilized  nation  ! 

XXIV. 

The  gossips  whispered  it  through  the  town, 
That  Captain  JONES  loved  SUSAN  BROWN; 

But,  speaking  with  due  precision, 
The  gossips'  tattle  was  out  of  joint, 
For  the  lady's  "blunt"  was  the  only  point 

That  dazzled  the  lover's  vision ! 


xxv. 

And  the  Captain  begged,  in  his  smoothest  tones; 
Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  to  be  Mistress  JONES,— 
Flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his  bones, 

Till  death  the  union  should  sever  ; 
For  these  are  the  words  employed,  of  course, 
Though  Death  is  cheated,  sometimes,  by  Divorce, 
A  fact  which  gives  an  equivocal  force 

To  that  beautiful  phrase,  "  forever  ! " 


94        CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 

xxvr. 

And  SUSAN  sighed  the  conventional  "  Nay  " 
In  such  a  bewitching,  affirmative  way, 
The  Captain  perceived  't  was  the  feminine  "  Ay," 

And  sealed  it  in  such  commotion, 
That  no  "  lip-service  "  that  ever  was  paid 
To  the  ear  of  a  god,  or  the  cheek  of  a  maid, 

Looked  more  like  real  devotion  ! 

XX  VI  I. 

And  SUSAN'S  Mamma  made  an  elegant/^, 
And  exhibited  all  the  family  plate, 

In  honor  of  SUSAN'S  lover; 
For  now  't  was  settled,  another  trip 
Over  the  sea  in  his  merchant-ship, 

And  his  bachelor-ship  was  over. 

xxvi  I  r. 

There  was  an  Alderman,  well  to  do, 
Who  was  fond  of  talking  about  vertti, 
And  had,  besides,  the  genuine  £w2/, 

If  one  might  credit  his  telling ; 
And  the  boast  was  true  beyond  a  doubt 
If  he  had  only  pronounced  it  "gout," 

According  to  English  spelling  ! 

XXIX. 

A  crockery-merchant  of  great  parade, 
Always  boasting  of  having  made 
His  large  estate  in  the  China  trade ; 

Several  affluent  tanners  ; 
A  lawyer,  whose  most  important  "  case  " 
Was  that  which  kept  his  books  in  place ; 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE.        95 

His  wife,  a  lady  of  matchless  grace, 
Who  bought  her  form,  and  made  her  face, 
And  plainly  borrowed  her  manners  ; 

XXX. 

A  druggist ;  an  undevout  divine  ; 

A  banker,  who  'd  got  as  rich  as  a  mine 

"In  the  cotton  trade  and  sugar  line," 

Along  the  Atlantic  border ; 
A  doctor,  fumbling  his  golden  seals  ; 
And  an  undertaker  close  at  his  heels, 

Quite  in  the  natural  order ! 

XXXI. 

People  of  rank,  and  people  of  wealth, 
Plethoric  people  in  delicate  health, 
(Who  fast  in  public,  and  feast  by  stealth,) 

And  people  slender  and  hearty, 
Flocked  in  so  fast,  't  was  plain  to  the  eye 
Of  any  observer  standing  by, 
That  party-spirit  was  running  high, 

And  this  was  the  popular  party  1 

XXXII. 

To  tell  what  griefs  and  woes  betide 
The  hapless  world,  from  female  pride, 

Were  a  long  and  dismal  story  ; 
Alas  for  SUSAN  and  womankind  ! 
A  sudden  ambition  seized  her  mind, 

In  the  height  of  her  party-glory. 

XXXIII. 

To  pique  a  group  of  laughing  girls 
Who  stood  admiring  the  Captain's  curls, 
She  formed  the  resolution 


96        CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 

To  get  a  lock  of  her  lover's  hair, 
In  the  gaze  of  the  guests  assembled  there, 
By  some  expedient,  foul  or  fair, 
Before  the  party's  conclusion. 

xxxiv. 

"  Only  a  lock,  dear  Captain  !  —  no  more, 
'  A  lock  for  memory,'  I  implore  ! " 

But  JONES,  the  gayest  of  quizzers, 
Replied,  as  he  gave  his  eye  a  cock, 
"  'T  is  a  treacherous  memory  needs  a  lock," 

And  dodged  the  envious  scissors. 

XXXV. 

Alas  that  SUSAN  could  n't  refrain, 
In  her  zeal  the  precious  lock  to  gain, 
From  laying  her  hand  on  the  lion's  mane  ! 

To  see  the  cruel  mocking, 
And  hear  the  short,  affected  cough, 
The  general  titter,  and  chuckle,  and  scoff, 
When  the  Captain's  Patent  Wig  came  off, 

Was  really  dreadfully  shocking  ! 

xxxvi. 

Of  SUSAN'S  swoon,  the  tale  is  told, 
That  long  before  her  earthly  mould 

Regained  its  ghostly  tenant, 
Her  luckless,  wigless,  loveless  lover 
Was  on  the  sea,  and  "  half-seas-over," 
Dreaming  that  some  piratical  rover 

Had  carried  away  his  Pennant ! 


MIRALDA. 
M  I  R  A  L  D  A : 

A    TALE    OF    CUBA.1 


T  N  Cuba,  when  that  lovely  land 

Saw  Tacon  reigning  in  his  glory, 
How  Justice  held,  at  his  command, 
Her  balance  with  an  even  hand  — 
Learn  while  you  listen  to  my  story. 

II. 

Miralda  —  such  her  maiden  name  — 
Was  poor  and  fair,  and  gay  and  witty, 

Yet  in  Havana  not  a  dame 

In  satin  had  a  fairer  fame, 
Or  owned  a  face  one  half  so  pretty. 

ill. 

For  years  she  plied  her  humble  trade, 

(To  sell  cigars  was  her  vocation,) 
And  many  a  gay  gallant  had  paid 
More  pounds  to  please  the  handsome  maid 
Than  pence  to  buy  his  soul's  salvation. 

IV. 
But  though  the  maiden,  like  the  sun, 

Had  smiles  for  every  transient  rover, 
Her  smiles  were  all  the  bravest  won  ; 
Miralda  gave  her  heart  to  none 
Save  Pedro,  her  affianced  lover ; 

5  a 


97 


9  8  MIRALDA. 

V. 
Pedro,  a  manly  youth  who  bore 

His  station  well  as  labor's  vassal, 
The  while  he  plied  a  nimble  oar 
For  passengers,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Between  the  Punta  and  the  Castle. 

VI. 

The  handsome  boatman  she  had  learned 
To  love  with  fondest,  truest  passion  ; 

For  him  she  saved  the  gold  she  earned  ; 

For  him  Miralda  proudly  spurned 
The  doubtful  suit  of  .men  of  fashion. 

VII. 
Of  these  —  a  giddy,  gaudy  train, 

Strict  devotees  of  wanton  Pleasure  — 
Gay  Count  Almontd  sought  to  gain 
Miralda's  love  ;  but  all  in  vain  ; 

Her  heart  was  still  her  Pedro's  treasure. 

VIII. 

At  last  the  Count,  in  sheer  despair 

Of  gaining  aught  by  patient  suing, 
Contrived  —  the  wretch  !  —  a  cunning  snare, 
By  wicked  force  to  win  and  wear 

The  prize  that  spurned  his  gentler  wooing. 

IX. 

One  day  a  dashing  Captain  came, 
Befote  the  morning  sun  had  risen, 

And,  bowing,  begged  to  know  her  name. 

"  Miralda."     "  Faith  !  it  is  the  same. 
Here,  men,  conduct  the  girl  to  prison  ! " 


MIRALDA.  99 


"  By  whose  authority  ? "  she  said ; 

"  The  Governor's  !  "  "  Nay,  then  't  is  folly 
To  question  more."  She  dropped  her  head, 
And  followed  where  the  Captain  led, 

O'erwhelmed  with  deepest  melancholy. 

XI. 
The  prison  seems  a  league  or  more 

From  poor  Miralda's  humble  shanty ; 
Was  e'er  such  treachery  before  ? 
The  Count  Almonte's  at  the  door, 

To  hand  her  down  from  the  volante" ! 

XII. 

"  Ah  !  —  coward  !  "  cried  the  angry  maid  ; 

"  This  scurvy  trick  !  —  if  Tacon  knew  it, 
Your  precious  '  Captain,'  I  'm  afraid, 
Would  miss,  for  once,  his  dress-parade ! 

Release  me,  Count,  or  you  may  rue  it !  " 

XIII. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Count,  "  that  may  not  be  ; 

I  cannot  let  you  go  at  present ; 
I  '11  lock  you  up  awhile,"  said  he ; 
"  If  you  are  lonely,  send  for  me  ; 

I  '11  try  to  make  your  prison  pleasant." 

XIV. 

Poor  Pedro  !  guess  the  lad's  dismay  — 

His  stark  astonishment  at  learning 
His  lady-love  had  gone  away, 
(But  how  or  whither  none  could  say,) 
And  left  no  word  about  returning  ! 


I0o  MIRALDA. 

XV. 

The  man  who  wrote  that  "  Love  is  blind  " 
Could  ne'er  have  known  a  genuine  lover ; 

Poor  Pedro  gave  his  anxious  mind 

Miralda's  hiding-place  to  find, 

And  found  it  ere  the  day  was  over. 

XVI. 
Clad  in  a  friar's  garb,  he  hies 

At  night  to  where  his  love  is  hidden, 
And,  favored  by  his  grave  disguise, 
He  learns  that  she  is  safe,  — and  flies, 

As  he  had  entered,  unforbidden. 

XVII. 

What  could  he  do  ?  he  pondered  long 

On  every  plausible  suggestion  ; 
Alas !  the  rich  may  do  a  wrong, 
And  buy  their  quittance  with  a  song, 

If  any  dare  the  deed  to  question ! 

xvm. 
"  Yet  Rtimor  whispered  long  ago, 

(Although  she 's  very  fond  of  lying,) 
*  Tacon  loves  justice  ! '  —  may  be  so  ; 
Quien  sabe? —  Let  his  answer  show  !  — 

I  '11  go  and  see,  —  it  is  but  trying ! " 

XIX. 

And,  faith,  the  boatman  kept  his  word  ; 

To  Tacon  he  the  tale  related, 
Which,  when  the  Governor  had  heard, 
With  righteous  wrath  his  breast  was  stirred. 

"  Swear,  boy,"  he  said,  "  to  what  you  Ve  stated  ! " 


MIRALDA.  I0i 

XX. 

He  took  the  oath,  and  straight  began 

For  speedy  justice  to  implore  him  : 
Great  Tacon  frowned,  "  Be  silent,  man  ! " 
Then  called  the  guard,  —  away  they  ran,  — 

And  soon  the  culprit  stood  before  him  ! 

XXI. 

Miralda  too  was  standing  near, 
To  witness  to  his  dark  transgression  ; 

"  Know  you,  my  lord,  why  you  are  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Excellencia,  it  is  clear 
That  I  must  plead  an  indiscretion." 

XXII. 

"  The  uniform  your  servants  wore 

In  this  affair,  —  how  came  they  by  it  ? 

Whose  sword  was  that  your  Captain  bore  ? 

The  crime  is  grave."     "  Nay,  I  implore 
Your  clemency,  —  I  can't  deny  it." 

XXIII. 

"  This  damsel  here,  —  has  any  stain 
By  act  of  yours  been  put  upon  her  ?  " 

"  No,  Excellencia  ;  all  in  vain 

Were  bribes  and  threats  her  will  to  gain,  — 
I  here  declare  it  on  my  honor  ! " 

XXIV. 

"  Enough  !  "  the  Governor  replied, 

And  added,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"  Go,  bring  a  Priest !  "     What  can  betide  ? 
To  shrive  ?  to  wed  ?  who  can  decide  ? 

All  stood  and  mused  in  silent  wonder. 


102  MIRALDA. 

XXV. 

The  Priest  was  brought,  —  a  reverend  head, 
His  hands  with  holy  emblems  laden. 

"  Now,  Holy  Father,  please  to  wed, 

And  let  the  rite  be  quickly  sped, 
Senor  Almonte"  and  this  maiden ! " 

XXVI. 

Poor  Pedro  stood  aghast !     With  fear 

And  deep  dismay  Miralda  trembled  ; 
While  Count  Almonte",  thus  to  hear 
The  words  of  doom  that  smote  his  ear, 
His  sudden  horror  ill  dissembled. 

XXVII. 
Too  late  !  for  in  that  presence  none 

Had  dared  a  whisper  of  negation. 
The  words  were  said,  —  the  deed  was  done,  - 
The  Church  had  joined  the  two  in  one 

Ere  they  had  breath  for  lamentation ! 

XXVIII. 

The  Count  rode  off  with  drooping  head, 

Cursing  his  fortune  and  his  folly  ; 
But  ere  a  mile  his  steed  had  sped, 
A  flash  !  —  and  lo  !  —  the  Count  is  dead  !  — 
Slain  by  a  murderous  leaden  volley  1 

XXIX. 

Soon  came  the  officer  who  bore 

The  warrant  of  his  execution, 
With,  "  Excellencia,  all  is  o'er ; 
Senor  Almonte  is  no  more  ; 

Sooth !  —  't  was  a  fearful  retribution  !  " 


LE  JARDIN  MABILE.  103 

XXX. 

"  Now  let  the  herald,"  Tacon  said, 

"  (That  none  these  doings  may  disparage,) 

Proclaim  Senor  Almonte"  dead  ; 

And  that  Miralda  take,  instead, 

His  lands,  now  hers  by  lawful  marriage  ! " 

XXXI. 

And  so  it  was  the  lovers  came 

To  happiness  beyond  their  dreaming, 
And  ever  after  blessed  the  name 
Of  him  who  spared  a  maiden's  shame, 
And  spoiled  a  villain's  wicked  scheming. 


LE    JARDIN    MABILE. 


SHOULD  you  e'er  go  to  France  —  as  of  course  you 
intend  — 

(Though  the  Great  Exposition  is  now  at  an  end,) 
And  in  Paris  should  stroll  —  as  I  'm  certain  you  will  — 
In  the  Gardens  adorned  with  such  exquisite  skill 
To  call  them  "  Elysian  "  is  scarcely  to  reach 
What  the  grammars  entitle  a  "  figure  of  speech,"  — 
Don't  fail,  ere  you  go,  for  a  moment  to  steal 
A  look  at  the  spot  called  the  Jardin  Mabile, 

II. 

'T  is  a  place  of  enchantment !  —  a  rural  retreat 
Where  Nature  and  Art  in  such  harmony  meet 
To  form  an  Elysium  of  music  and  flowers, 
Of  moss-covered  grottos  and  fairy-like  bowers, 


I04  LE  JARDIN  MA  BILE. 

Where  lamps  blaze  in  tulips,  and  glow-worms  of  gas 
Illumine  the  roses  and  gleam  in  the  grass,  — 
That,  merely  to  see  it,  one  cannot  but  feel 
If  there 's  Heaven  on  Earth,  't  is  the  Jardin  Mobile  / 

in. 

But  wait  until  midnight,  or,  say,  one  o'clock, 
When  hither  by  hundreds  the  citizens  flock, 
And  strangers  unnumbered  are  strolling  around 
In  the  serpentine  walks  of  the  beautiful  ground ; 
Just  wait,  if  you  please,  till  the  dance  is  begun, 
And  then,  at  the  height  of  the  frolic  and  fun, 
Pray  look  where  the  bacchanals  caper  and  reel, 
And  say  what  you  think  of  the  Jardin  Mabile  ! 

IV. 

The  music  —  the  maddest  that  ever  you  heard — 
Strikes  up  from  the  stand,  and  away,  at  the  word, 
The  dancers  revolve,  —  't  is  the  waltz,  that  is  all ; 
The  same  you  have  witnessed  at  many  a  ball ; 
There 's  nothing  extremely  surprising  in  this, 
The  motion  is  swift,  but  there  's  little  amiss  ; 
You  merely  remark,  "  There  is  plenty  of  zeal 
In  the  dancers  who  dance  in  the  Jardin  Mabile. /" 

v. 

But  see !  where  the  people  are  closing  about 
Two  brazen-browed  women,  —  and  hark  to  the  shout, 
"La   Can-can.'  —  they're   at  it!" — No   wonder  you 

stare, 

One  foot  on  the  pavement,  —  now  two  in  the  air ! 
A  Cockney,  intent  on  this  rarest  of  shows, 
Retreats  from  the  shoe  that  is  grazing  his  nose  ! 
Good  lack !  —  till  he  dies,  he  '11  remember  the  heel 
That  spoiled  his  new  hat  in  the  Jar  din  Mabile  ! 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON.  105 

VI. 

There 's  drinking  and  gaming  at  many  a  stand ; 
There  's  feasting  and  flirting  on  every  hand ; 
The  Paphian  queen,  it  were  easy  to  tell, 
Is  the  Abbess,  to-night,  of  yon  anchorite  cell ; 
And  the  marvelling  Turk  (for  the  Sultan  is  here !) 
Cries,    "Allah!    Meshallah  .'  —  these    Christians   are 


queer 


Such  orgies  as  these  very  plainly  reveal 

Why  they  dotft  take  their  wives  to  the  Jar  din  Mabile  !  " 

vir. 

"  A  pity ! "  you  sigh,  —  and  a  pity  it  is 
Such  revels  should  shame  such  a  garden  as  this ; 
Where  all  that  is  charming  in  Nature  and  Art 
Serves  only  to  sully  and  harden  the  heart. 
"The  Devil's  own  hot-house!"  you  musingly  say, 
While  turning  in  sadness  and  sorrow  away ; 
Reflecting  that  Sin  —  as  you  potently  feel  — 
Is  the  thriftiest  plant  in  the  Jardin  Mabile ! 
1867. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    BALLSTON. 

AFTER   PRAED.2 

T  N  Ballston  —  once  a  famous  spot, 
*-  Ere  Saratoga  came  in  fashion  — 
I  had  a  transient  fit  of  what 

The  poets  call  the  "  tender  passion"  ; 
In  short,  when  I  was  young  and  gay, 

And  Fancy  held  the  throne  of  Reason, 
I  fell  in  love  with  Julia  May, 

The  reigning  beauty  of  the  season. 


I06  THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON. 

Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  such  a  pair  ! 

No  star  in  heaven  was  ever  brighter  ; 
Her  skin  was  most  divinely  fair  ; 

I  never  saw  a  shoulder  whiter. 
And  there  was  something  in  her  form, 

(Juste  en-bon-point,  I  think  they  term  it,) 
That  really  was  enough  to  warm 

The  icy  bosom  of  a  hermit ! 

In  sooth,  she  was  a  witching  girl, 

And  even  women  called  her  pretty, 
Who  saw  her  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 

Beneath  the  glare  of  spermaceti  ; 
Or  if  they  carped  —  as  Candor  must 

When  wounded  pride  and  envy  rankle  — 
'T  was  only  that  so  full  a  bust 

Should  heave  above  so  trim  an  ankle ! 

One  eve,  remote  from  festive  mirth, 

We  talked  of  Nature  and  her  treasures  ; 
I  said  :  —  "Of  all  the  joys  of  earth, 

Pray  name  the  sweetest  of  her  pleasures." 
She  gazed  with  rapture  at  the  moon 

That  struggled  through  the  spreading  beeches, 
And  answered  thus  :  —  "A  grove  —  at  noon  — 

A  friend  —  and  lots  of  cream  and  peaches  ! " 

I  spoke  of  trees,  —  the  stately  oak 

That  stands  the  forest's  royal  leader  ; 
The  whispering  pine  ;  and  then  I  spoke 

Of  Lebanon's  imperial  cedar  ; 
The  maple  of  our  colder  clime  ; 

The  elm  with  branches  intermeeting,  — 
She  thought  the  palm  must  be  sublime, 

And  —  dates  were  very  luscious  eating  ! 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLS  TON.  lo-j 

I  talked  about  the  sea  and  sky, 

And  spoke,  with  something  like  emotion, 
Of  countless  pearly  gems  that  lie 

Ungathered'by  the  sounding  ocean. 
She  smiled,  and  said,  (was  it  in  jest  ?) 

Of  all  the  shells  that  Nature  boasted 
She  thought  that  oysters  were  the  best, 

"  And,  dearest,  don't  you  love  'em  roasted  !  " 

I  talked  of  books  and  classic  lore ; 

I  spoke  of  Cooper's  latest  fiction, 
Recited  melodies  from  Moore, 

And  lauded  Irving's  charming  diction  ;  — 
She  sat  entranced  ;  then  raised  her  head, 

And  with  a  smile  that  seemed  of  heaven, 
"  We  must  return,"  the  siren  said, 

"  Or  we  shall  lose  the  lunch  at  'leven  ! " 

I  can't  describe  the  dreadful  shock, 

The  mingled  sense  of  love  and  pity, 
With  which,  next  day,  at  ten  o'clock, 

I  started  for  Manhattan  city  ; 
'T  was  years  ago,  —  that  sad  "  Good  by," 

Yet  o'er  the  scene  fond  memory  lingers  ; 
I  see  the  crystals  in  her  eye, 

And  berry-stains  upon  her  fingers  ! 

Ah  me !  of  so  much  loveliness 

It  had  been  sweet  to  be  the  winner ; 
I  know  she  loved  me  only  less  — 

The  merest  fraction  —  than  her  dinner  ; 
'T  was  hard"  to  lose  so  fair  a  prize, 

But  then  (I  thought)  't  were  vastly  harder 
To  have  before  my  jealous  eyes 

A  constant  rival  in  my  larder  ! 


I08  WHEN  I  MEAN  TO  MARRY. 


WHEN    I    MEAN    TO    MARRY. 

WHEN  do  I  mean  to  marry?  —  Well, 
'T  is  idle  to  dispute  with  fate  ; 
But  if  you  choose  to  hear  me  tell, 
Pray  listen  while  I  fix  the  date. 

When  daughters  haste,  with  eager  feet, 

A  mother's  daily  toil  to  share  ; 
Can  make  the  puddings  which  they  eat, 

And  mend  the  stockings  which  they  wear  ; 

When  maidens  look  upon  a  man 

As  in  himself  what  they  would  marry, 

And  not  as  army-soldiers  scan 
A  sutler  or  a  commissary  ; 

When  gentle  ladies,  who  have  got 

The  offer  of  a  lover's  hand, 
Consent  to  share  his  earthly  lot, 

And  do  not  mean  his  lot  of  land  ; 

When  young  mechanics  are  allowed 
To  find  and  wed  the  farmers'  girls 

Who  don't  expect  to  be  endowed 
With  rubies,  diamonds,  and  pearls  ; 

When  wives,  in  short,  shall  freely  give 

Their  hearts  and  hands  to  aid  their  spouses, 

And  live  as  they  were  wont  to  live 
Within  their  sires'  one-story  houses  ; 


A   REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT.  IOg 

Then,  madam,  —  if  I  'm  not  too  old,  — 

Rejoiced  to  quit  this  lonely  life, 
I  '11  brush  my  beaver  ;  cease  to  scold  ; 

And  look  about  me  for  a  wife  ! 


A   REFLECTIVE   RETROSPECT. 

'r  I "  IS  twenty  years,  and  something  more, 

•*-       Since,  all  athirst  for  useful  knowledge, 
I  took  some  draughts  of  classic  lore, 

Drawn  very  mild,  at  —     — rd  College  ; 
Yet  I  remember  all  that  one 

Could  wish  to  hold  in  recollection  ; 
The  boys,  the  joys,  the  noise,  the  fun ; 

But  not  a  single  Conic  Section. 

I  recollect  those  harsh  affairs, 

The  morning  bells  that  gave  us  panics  ; 
I  recollect  the  formal  prayers, 

That  seemed  like  lessons  in  Mechanics  ; 
I  recollect  the  drowsy  way 

In  which  the  students  listened  to  them, 
As  clearly,  in  my  wig,  to-day, 

As  when,  a  boy,  I  slumbered  through  them. 

I  recollect  the  tutors  all 

As  freshly  now,  if  I  may  say  so, 
As  any  chapter  I  recall 

In  Homer  or  Ovidius  Naso. 
I  recollect,  extremely  well, 

"  Old  Hugh,"  the  mildest  of  fanatics  ; 
I  well  remember  Matthew  Bell, 

But  very  faintly,  Mathematics. 


>  A   REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

I  recollect  the  prizes  paid 

For  lessons  fathomed  to  the  bottom  ; 
(Alas  that  pencil-marks  should  fade  !) 

I  recollect  the  chaps  who  got  'em,  — 
The  light  equestrians  who  soared 

O'er  every  passage  reckoned  stony  ; 
And  took  the  chalks,  —  but  never  scored 

A  single  honor  to  the  pony  ! 

Ah  me  !  —  what  changes  Time  has  wrought, 

And  how  predictions  have  miscarried  ! 
A  few  have  reached  the  goal  they  sought, 

And  some  are  dead,  and  some  are  married ! 
And  some  in  city  journals  war  ; 

And  some  as  politicians  bicker ; 
And  some  are  pleading  at  the  bar  — 

For  jury-verdicts,  or  for  liquor  ! 

And  some  on  Trade  and  Commerce  wait ; 

And  some  in  schools  with  dunces  battle  ; 
And  some  the  Gospel  propagate  ; 

And  some  the  choicest  breeds  of  cattle  ; 
And  some  are  living  at  their  ease  ; 

And  some  were  .wrecked  in  "the  revulsion  "; 
Some  serve  the  State  for  handsome  fees, 

And  one,  I  hear,  upon  compulsion ! 

LAMONT,  who,  in  his  college  days, 

Thought  e'en  a  cross  a  moral  scandal, 
Has  left  his  Puritanic  ways, 

And  worships  now  with  bell  and  candle  ; 
And  MANN,  who  mourned  the  negro's  fate, 

And  held  the  slave  as  most  unlucky, 
Now  holds  him,  at  the  market  rate, 

On  a  plantation  in  Kentucky  ! 


A   REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

TOM  KNOX  —  who  swore  in  such  a  tone 

It  fairly  might  be  doubted  whether 
It  really  was  himself  alone, 

Or  Knox  and  Erebus  together  — 
Has  grown  a  very  altered  man, 

And,  changing  oaths  for  mild  entreaty, 
Now  recommends  the  Christian  plan 

To  savages  in  Otaheite  ! 

Alas  for  young  ambition's  vow  ! 

How  envious  Fate  may  overthrow  it !  — 
Poor  HARVEY  is  in  Congress  now, 

Who  struggled  long  to  be  a  poet ; 
SMITH  carves  (quite  well)  memorial  stones, 

Who  tried  in  vain  to  make  the  law  go ; 
HALL  deals  in  hides  ;  and  " Pious  Jones" 

Is  dealing  faro  in  Chicago  ! 

And,  sadder  still,  the  brilliant  HAYS, 

Once  honest,  manly,  and  ambitious, 
Has  taken  latterly  to  ways 

Extremely  profligate  and  vicious  ; 
By  slow  degrees  —  I  can't  tell  how  — 

He  's  reached  at  last  the  very  groundsel, 
And  in  New  York  he  figures  now, 

A  member  of  the  Common  Council ! 


H2  THE  KNOWING  CHILD. 

THE    KNOWING   CHILD. 

"  L'Infant  terrible  ! " 

«  1\/TAIS,  gardez  vouz,  man  cher"  she  said, 

And  then  the  mother  smiled ; 
"  Speak  very  softly,  if  you  please, 
He 's  such  a  knowing  child  !  " 

My  simple  sister  spoke  the  truth  ; 

There  is  n't,  I  suppose, 
A  thing  on  earth  he  should  n't  know 

But  what  that  urchin  knows  ! 

And  all  he  knows  the  younker  tells 

In  such  a  knowing  way  ; 
For  what  he  knows,  you  may  be  sure, 

He  does  not  fear  to  say. 

He  knows  he  is  an  arrant  churl, 

Although  he  looks  so  mild  ; 
And  —  worst  of  all  —  full  well  he  knows 

He  is  a  knowing  child. 

He  knows  —  I  Ve  often  told  him  so  — 

I  am  averse  to  noise  ; 
He  knows  his  uncle  is  n't  fond 

Of  martial  little  boys  ; 

And  that,  no  doubt,  is  why  he  pounds 

His  real  soldier  drum 
Beneath  my  window,  morn  and  night, 

Until  my  ear  is  numb  ! 


THE  KNOWING   CHILD. 

He  knows  my  age  —  that  dreadful  boy  — 

Exactly  to  a  day  ; 
He  knows  precisely  why  my  locks 

Have  not  a  thread  of  gray. 

He  knows  —  and  says  (what  shocking  talk 

For  one  so  very  small !) 
My  head  —  without  my  curly  scratch  — 

Looks  like  a  billiard  ball ! 

He  knows  that  Mary's  headache  means 

She  does  n't  wish  to  go  ; 
And  lets  the  sacred  secret  out 

Before  her  waiting  beau  ! 

He  knows  why  Clara  always  coughs 

When  she  is  asked  to  sing  ; 
He  knows  (and  blabs  !)  that  Julia's  bust 

Is  not  the  real  thing ! 

He  knows  about  the  baby  too  ; 

Though  he  has  often  heard 
The  nurse's  old,  convenient  tale, 

He  don't  believe  a  word. 

And  when  those  ante-natal  caps 

Their  future  use  disclose, 
He  knows  again,  —  the  knowing  imp, 

Just  what  his  uncle  knows  ! 

Ah  !  well ;  no  doubt,  what  Time  may  bring 

'T  is  better  not  to  see  ; 
I  know  not  what  the  changeful  Fates 

May  have  in  store  for  me  ; 


IDEAL   AND  REAL. 

But  if  within  the  nuptial  noose 

My  neck  should  be  beguiled, 
Heaven  save  the  house  from  childlessness 

And  from  a  knowing  child  ! 


IDEAL  AND    REAL. 

IDEAL. 

0  OME  years  ago,  when  I  was  young, 
^     And  Mrs.  Jones  was  Miss  Delancy ; 
When  wedlock's  canopy  was  hung 

With  curtains  from  the  loom  of  fancy ; 

1  used  to  paint  my  future  life 
With  most  poetical  precision,  — 

My  special  wonder  of  a  wife  ; 

My  happy  days  ;  my  nights  Elysian. 

I  saw  a  lady,  rather  small 

(A  JUNO  was  my  strict  abhorrence), 
With  flaxen  hair,  contrived*  to  fall 

In  careless  ringlets,  a  la  Lawrence; 
A  blond  complexion  ;  eyes  that  drew 

From  autumn  clouds  their  azure  brightness  ; 
The  foot  of  Hebe  ;  arms  whose  hue 

Was  perfect  in  its  milky  whiteness  ! 

I  saw  a  party,  quite  select,  — 

There  might  have  been  a  baker's  dozen  ; 
A  parson,  of  the  ruling  sect ; 

A  bridemaid,  and  a  city  cousin  ; 
A  formal  speech  to  me  and  mine, 

(Its  meaning  I  could  scarce  discover;) 


IDEAL  AND  REAL.  115 

A  taste  of  cake  ;  a  sip  of  wine  ; 

Some  kissing  —  and  the  scene  was  over ! 


I  saw  a  baby  —  one  —  no  more  ; 

A  cherub  pictured,  rather  faintly, 
Beside  a  pallid  dame  who  wore 

A  countenance  extremely  saintly. 
I  saw,  —  but  nothing  could  I  hear, 

Except  the  softest  prattle,  maybe, 
The  merest  breath  upon  the  ear,  — 

So  quiet  was  that  blessed  baby  ! 

REAL. 

I  see  a  woman,  rather  tall, 

And  yet,  I  own,  a  comely  lady  ; 
Complexion  —  such  as  I  must  call 

(To  be  exact)  a  little  shady  ; 
A  hand  not  handsome,  yet  confessed 

A  generous  one  for  love  or  pity ; 
A  nimble  foot,  and  —  neatly  dressed 

In  No.  5  —  extremely  pretty  ! 

I  see  a  group  of  boys  and  girls 

Assembled  round  the  knee  paternal 
With  ruddy  cheeks  and  tangled  curls, 

And  manners  not  at  all  supernal. 
And  one  has  reached  a  manly  size  ; 

And  one  aspires  to  woman's  stature ; 
And  one  is  quite  a  recent  prize, 

And  all  abound  in  human  nature  ! 

The  boys  are  hard  to  keep  in  trim  ; 
The  girls  are  often  rather  trying ; 


THE   GAME   OF  LIFE. 

And  baby  —  like  the  cherubim  — 
Seems  very  fond  of  steady  crying  ! 

And  yet  the  precious  little  one, 

His  mother's  dear,  despotic  master, 

Is  worth  a  thousand  babies  done 
In  Parian  or  in  alabaster  ! 

And  oft  that  stately  dame  and  I, 

When  laughing  o'er  our  early  dreaming, 
And  marking,  as  the  years  go  by, 

How  idle  was  our  youthful  scheming, 
Confess  the  wiser  Power  that  knew 

How  Duty  every  joy  enhances, 
And  gave  us  blessings  rich  and  true, 

And  better  far  than  all  our  fancies. 


THE    GAME    OF    LIFE. 

A  HOMILY. 

HPHERE  's  a  game  much  in  fashion,  —  I  think  it 's 

called  Euchre, 

(Though  I  never  have  played  it,  for  pleasure  or  lucre,) 
In  which,  when  the  cards  are  in  certain  conditions, 
The  players  appear  to  have  changed  their  positions, 
And  one  of  them  cries,  in  a  confident  tone, 
"  I  think  I  may  venture  to  go  it  alone  /" 

While  watching  the  game,  't  is  a  whim  of  the  bard's 
A  moral  to  draw  from  that  skirmish  of  cards, 
And  to  fancy  he  finds  in  the  trivial  strife 
Some  excellent  hints  for  the  battle  of  Life  ; 
Where  —  whether  the  prize  be  a  ribbon  or  throne  — 
The  winner  is  he  who  can  go  it  alone  1 


THE   GAME   OF  LIFE.  ny 

When  great  Galileo  proclaimed  that  the  world 
In  a  regular  orbit  was  ceaselessly  whirled, 
And  got  —  not  a  convert  —  for  all  of  his  pains, 
But  only  derision  and  prison  and  chains, 
"  It  moves,  for  all  that  /"  was  his  answering  tone, 
For  he  knew,  like  the  Earth,  he  could  go  it  alone ! 

When  Kepler,  with  intellect  piercing  afar, 

Discovered  the  laws  of  each  planet  and  star, 

And  doctors,  who  ought  to  have  lauded  his  name, 

Derided  his  learning,  and  blackened  his  fame, 

"  I  can  wait !  "  he  replied,  "  till  the  truth  you  shall  own  "; 

For  he  felt  in  his  heart  he  could  go  it  alone ! 

Alas  !  for  the  player  who  idly  depends, 

In  the  struggle  of  life,  upon  kindred  or  friends ; 

Whatever  the  value  of  blessings  like  these, 

They  can  never  atone  for  inglorious  ease, 

Nor  comfort  the  coward  who  finds,  with  a  groan, 

That  his  crutches  have  left  him  to  go  it  alone ! 

There's  something,  no  doubt,  in  the  hand  you  may  hold, 

Health,  family,  culture,  wit,  beauty,  and  gold 

The  fortunate  owner  may  fairly  regard 

As,  each  in  its  way,  a  most  excellent  card  ; 

Yet  the  game  may  be  lost,  with  all  these  for  your  own, 

Unless  you  Ve  the  courage  to  go  it  alone  ! 

In  brittle  or  business,  whatever  the  game, 

In  law  or  in  love,  it  is  ever  the  same  ; 

In  the  struggle  for  power,  or  the  scramble  for  pelf, 

Let  this  be  your  motto,  —  Rely  on  yourself! 

For,  whether  the  prize  be  a  ribbon  or  throne, 

The  victor  is  he  who  can  go  it  alone  ! 


u8          THE  PUZZLED   CENSUS-TAKER. 


THE    PUZZLED    CENSUS-TAKER. 


OT  any  boys  ?"  the  Marshal  said 
To  a  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  the  lady  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  "  * 

"  Got  any  girls  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  /  " 

"  But  some  are  dead  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"  Husband  of  course  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"  The  devil  you  have  !  "  the  Marshal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  shaking  your  head, 

And  always  answering,  'Nine'  ?" 
"  Ich  kann  nicht  Englisch  !  "  civilly  said 

The  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ! 

*  Nein,  pronounced  nine,  is  the  German  for  "No." 


THE  HEART  AND    THE  LIVER. 
THE    HEART    AND    THE    LIVER. 

MUSINGS   OF   A   DYSPEPTIC. 
I. 

SHE  's  broken-hearted,  I  have  heard,  — 
Whate'er  may  be  the  reason  ; 
(Such  things  will  happen  now  and  then 

In  Love's  tempestuous  season  ;) 
But  still  I  marvel  she  should  show 

No  plainer  outward  token, 
If  such  a  vital  inward  part 
Were  very  badly  broken  ! 

II. 

She  's  broken-hearted,  I  am  told, 

And  so,  of  course,  believe  it ; 
When  truth  is  fairly  certified 

I  modestly  receive  it ; 
But  after  such  an  accident, 

It  surely  is  a  blessing, 
It  does  n't  in  the  least  impair 

Her  brilliant  style  of  dressing ! 

ill. 
She  's  broken-hearted  :  who  can  doubt 

The  noisy  voice  of  Rumor  ? 
And  yet  she  seems  —  for  such  a  wreck  — 

In  no  unhappy  humor; 
She  sleeps  (I  hear)  at  proper  hours, 

When  other  folks  are  dozy  ; 
Her  eyes  are  sparkling  as  of  yore, 

And  still  her  cheeks  are  rosy  ! 


I20  ABOUT  HUSBANDS. 

IV. 
She  's  broken-hearted,  and  they  say 

She  never  can  recover  ; 
And  then  —  in  not  the  mildest  way  — 

They  blame  some  fickle  lover ; 
I  know  she  's  dying  —  by  degrees  — 

But,  sure  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 
I  saw  her  eat,  the  other  day, 

A  most  prodigious  dinner  ! 

v. 
Alas  !  that  I,  in  idle  rhyme, 

Should  e'er  profanely  question 
(As  I  have  done  while  musing  o'er 

My  chronic  indigestion) 
If  one  should  not  receive  the  blow 

With  blessings  on  the  Giver, 
That  only  falls  upon  the  heart, 

And  kindly  spares  the  LIVER  ! 


ABOUT    HUSBANDS. 

"  A  man  is,  in  general,  better  pleased  when  he  has  a  good  dinner  upon 
his  table,  than  when  his  wife  speaks  Greek."  —  SAM.  JOHNSON. 

JOHNSON  was  right.     I  don't  agree  to  all 
The  solemn  dogmas  of  the  rough  old  stager ; 
But  very  much  approve  what  one  may  call 
The  minor  morals  of  the  "  Ursa  Major." 

Johnson  was  right.     Although  some  men  adore 
Wisdom  in  woman,  and  with  learning  cram  her, 

There  is  n't  one  in  ten  but  thinks  far  more 

Of  his  own  grub  than  of  his  spouse's  grammar. 


ABOUT  HUSBANDS.  I2l 

I  know  it  is  the  greatest  shame  in  life  ; 

But  who  among  them  (save,  perhaps,  mysqlf) 
Returning  hungry  home,  but  asks  his  wife 

What  beef- —  not  books  —  she  has  upon  the  shelf? 

Though  Greek  and  Latin  be  the  lady's  boast, 
They  're  little  valued  by  her  loving  mate  ; 

The  kind  of  tongue  that  husbands  relish  most 
Is  modern,  boiled,  and  served  upon  a  plate. 

Or  if,  as  fond  ambition  may  command, 

Some  home-made  verse  the  happy  matron  show 

him, 
What  mortal  spouse  but  from  her  dainty  hand 

Would  sooner  see  a  pudding  than  a  poem  ? 

Young  lady,  —  deep  in  love  with  Tom  or  Harry, — 
'T  is  sad  to  tell  you  such  a  tale  as  this  ; 

But  here  's  the  moral  of  it :  Do  not  marry  ; 
Or,  marrying,  take  your  lover  as  he  is,  — 

A  very  man,  —  with  something  of  the  brute 
(Unless  he  prove  a  sentimental  noddy), 

With  passions  strong  and  appetite  to  boot, 
A  thirsty  soul  within  a  hungry  body. 

A  very  man,  —  not  one  of  nature's  clods,  — 
With  human  failings,  whether  saint  or  sinner ; 

Endowed,  perhaps,  with  genius  from  the  gods, 
But  apt  to  take  his  temper  from  his  dinner. 


122  WHERE  THERE'S  A  WILL  THERE'S  A  WAY. 
WHERE  THERE  'S  A  WILL  THERE  'S  A  WAY. 

"  Aut  viam  inveniam,  aut  faciam." 

IT  was  a  noble  Roman, 
In  Rome's  imperial  day, 
Who  heard  a  coward  croaker, 

Before  the  Castle,  say  : 
"  They  're  safe  in  such  a  fortress  ; 

There  is  no  way  to  shake  it ! " 
"  On  —  on  !  "  exclaimed  the  hero, 
"  /  'II find  a  way,  or  make  it  /  " 

Is  Fame  your  aspiration  ? 

Her  path  is  steep  and  high  ; 
In  vain  he  seeks  her  temple, 

Content  to  gaze  and  sigh  : 
The  shining  throne  is  waiting, 

But  he  alone  can  take  it 
Who  says,  with  Roman  firmness, 

"  r II find  a  way,  or  make  it !  " 

Is  Learning  your  ambition  ? 

There  is  no  royal  road  ; 
Alike  the  peer  and  peasant 

Must  climb  to  her  abode  : 
Who  feels  the  thirst  of  knowledge, 

In  Helicon  may  slake  it, 
If  he  has  still  the  Roman  will 

"  To  find  a  way,  or  make  it !  " 

Are  Riches  worth  the  getting  ? 
They  must  be  bravely  sought ; 


A   BENEDICT'S  APPEAL.  123 

With  wishing  and  with  fretting 

The  boon  cannot  be  bought : 
To  all  the  prize  is  open, 

But  only  he  can  take  it 
Who  says,  with  Roman  courage, 

"  /  'II find  a  way,  or  make  it !  " 

In  Love's  impassioned  warfare 

The  tale  has  ever  been, 
That  victory  crowns  the  valiant,  — 

The  brave  are  they  who  win  : 
Though  strong  is  Beauty's  castle, 

A  lover  still  may  take  it, 
Who  says,  with  Roman  daring, 

"  /  'II find  a  way,  or  make  it  /  " 


A   BENEDICT'S   APPEAL   TO   A   BACHELOR. 

"  Double  !  double  ! "  —  SHAKESPEARE. 


TAEAR  CHARLES,  be  persuaded  to  wed,— 
*-*      For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two  ! 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  delaying, — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  saying 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  single  ! 

II. 

Don't  say  that  you  have  n't  got  time,  — 
That  business  demands  your  attention,  — 


124 


A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL. 

There  's  not  the  least  reason  nor  rhyme 
In  the  wisest  excuse  you  can  mention. 

Don't  tell  me  about  "  other  fish,"  - 

Your  duty  is  done  when  you  buy  'em,  — 

And  you  never  will  relish  the  dish, 
Unless  you  've  a  woman  to  fry  'em  ! 

in. 
Don't  listen  to  querulous  stories 

By  desperate  damsels  related, 
Who  sneer  at  connubial  glories, 

Because  they  've  known  couples  mismated. 
Such  people,  if  they  had  their  pleasure, 

Because  silly  bargins  are  made, 
Would  deem  it  a  rational  measure 

To  lay  an  embargo  on  trade  ! 

IV. 

You  may  dream  of  poetical  fame, 

But  your  wishes  may  chance  to  miscarry,  — 
The  best  way  of  sending  one's  name 

To  posterity,  Charles,  is  to  marry  ! 
And  here  I  am  willing  to  own, 

After  soberly  thinking  upon  it, 
I  'd  very  much  rather  be  known 

For  a  beautiful  son,  than  a  sonnet ! 

v. 

To  Procrastination  be  deaf,  — 

(A  homily  sent  from  above,)  — 
The  scoundrel 's  not  only  "  the  thief 

Of  time,"  but  of  beauty  and  love  ! 
O  delay  not  one  moment  to  win 

A  prize  that  is  truly  worth  winning,  — 


A   BENEDICT'S  APPEAL.  12$ 

Celibacy,  Charles,  is  a  sin, 
And  sadly  prolific  of  sinning  ! 


VI. 

Then  pray  bid  your  doubting  good  by, 

And  dismiss  all  fantastic  alarms,  — 
I  '11  be  sworn  you  Ve  a  girl  in  your  eye 

'T  is  your  duty  to  have  in  your  arms  ! 
Some  trim  little  maiden  of  twenty, 

A  beautiful,  azure-eyed  elf, 
With  virtues  and  graces  in  plenty, 

And  no  failing  but  loving  yourself ! 

VII. 

Don't  search  for  "  an  angel "  a  minute ; 

For  granting  you  win  in  the  sequel, 
The  deuce,  after  all,  would  be  in  it, 

With  a  union  so  very  unequal ! 
The  angels,  it  must  be  confessed, 

In  this  world  are  rather  uncommon  ; 
And  allow  me,  dear  Charles,  to  suggest 

You  '11  be  better  content  with  a  woman  ! 

VIII. 

I  could  furnish  a  bushel  of  reasons 

For  choosing  a  conjugal  mate,  — 
It  agrees  with  all  climates  and  seasons, 

And  gives  you  a  "  double  estate  "  ! 
To  one's  parents  't  is  (gratefully)  due,  — 

Just  think  what  a  terrible  thing 
'T  would  have  been,  sir,  for  me  and  for  you, 

If  ours  had  forgotten  the  ring  ! 


I26  A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL. 

IX. 
Then  there 's  the  economy  —  clear, 

By  poetical  algebra  shown,  — 
If  your  wife  has  a  grief  or  a  fear, 

One  half,  by  the  law,  is  your  own  ! 
And  as  to  the  joys  —  by  division, 

They  're  nearly  quadrupled,  't  is  said 
(Though  I  never  could  see  the  addition 

Quite  plain  in  the  item  of  bread). 

x. 

Remember,  I  do  not  pretend 

There  's  anything  "  perfect "  about  it, 
But  this  I  '11  aver  to  the  end, 

Life 's  very  imperfect  without  it. 
'T  is  not  that  there 's  "  poetry  "  in  it,  — 

As,  doubtless,  there  may  be  to  those 
Endowed  with  a  genius  to  win  it,  — 

But  I  '11  warrant  you  excellent  prose  ! 

XL 
Then,  Charles,  be  persuaded  to  wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two  ; 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  delaying,  - 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  saying 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  single  ! 


THE   GHOST-PLAYER. 
THE    GHOST-PLAYER. 

A  BALLAD. 

nPOM  GOODWIN  was  an  actor-man, 
-*-       Old  Drury's  pride  and  boast 
In  all  the  light  and  sprite-ly  parts, 
Especially  the  Ghost. 

Now  Tom  was  very  fond  of  drink, 

Of  almost  every  sort, 
Comparative  and  positive, 

From  porter  up  to  port. 

But  grog,  like  grief,  is  fatal  stuff 

For  any  man  to  sup  ; 
For,  when  it  fails  to  pull  him  down, 

It 's  sure  to  blow  him  up. 

And  so  it  fared  with  ghostly  Torn, 

Who  day  by  day  was  seen 
A-swelling,  till  (as  lawyers  say) 

He  fairly  lost  his  lean. 

At  length  the  manager  observed 

He  'd  better  leave  his  post, 
And  said,  he  played  the  very  deuce 

Whene'er  he  played  the  Ghost. 

'T  was  only  t'  other  night  he  saw 

A  fellow  swing  his  hat, 
And  heard  him  cry,  "  By  all  the  gods  1 

The  Ghost  is  getting  fat ! " 


127 


128  THE   GHOST-PLAYER. 

'T  would  never  do,  the  case  was  plain ; 

His  eyes  he  could  n't  shut ; 
Ghosts  should  n't  make  the  people  laugh, 

And  Tom  was  quite  a  butt. 

Tom's  actor  friends  said  ne'er  a  word 
To  cheer  his  drooping  heart ; 

Though  more  than  one  was  burning  up 
With  zeal  to  "  take  his  part." 

Tom  argued  very  plausibly  ; 

He  said  he  did  n't  doubt 
That  Hamlet's  father  drank  and  grew, 

In  years,  a  little  stout. 

And  so,  't  was  natural,  he  said, 

And  quite  a  proper  plan, 
To  have  his  spirit  represent 

A  portly  sort  of  man. 

'T  was  all  in  vain  :  the  manager 

Said  he  was  not  in  sport, 
And,  like  a  gen'ral,  bade  poor  Tom 

Surrender  up  his  forte, 

He  'd  do  perhaps  in  heavy  parts, 

Might  answer  for  a  monk, 
Or  porter  to  the  elephant, 

To  carry  round  his  trunk  ; 

But  in  the  Ghost  his  day  was  past,  — 

He  'd  never  do  for  that ; 
A  Ghost  might  just  as  well  be  dead 

As  plethoric  and  fat ! 


[DO    YOU  THINK  HE  IS  MARRIED?" 

Alas  !  next  day  poor  Tom  was  found 

As  stiff  as  any  post ; 
For  he  had  lost  his  character, 

And  given  up  the  Ghost ! 


"DO   YOU   THINK   HE   IS   MARRIED?" 

TV  /\  ADAM,  —  you  are  very  pressing, 
•*•»  J-      And  I  can't  decline  the  task; 
With  the  slightest  gift  of  guessing, 
You  would  scarcely  need  to  ask. 

Don't  you  see  a  hint  of  marriage 

In  his  sober-sided  face  ? 
In  his  rather  careless  carriage, 

And  extremely  rapid  pace  ? 

If  he  's  not  committed  treason, 

Or  some  wicked  action  done, 
Can  you  see  the  faintest  reason 

Why  a  bachelor  should  run  ? 

Why  should  he  be  in  a  flurry  ? 

But  a  loving  wife  to  greet 
Is  a  circumstance  to  hurry 

The  most  dignified  of  feet. 

When  afar  the  man  has  spied  her, 

If  the  grateful,  happy  elf 
Does  not  haste  to  be  beside  her, 

He  must  be  beside  himself! 


129 


A    COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 

It  is  but  a  trifle,  maybe,  — 
But  observe  his  practised  tone, 

When  he  calms  your  stormy  baby, 
Just  as  if  it  were  his  own  ! 

Do  you  think  a  certain  meekness 
You  have  mentioned  in  his  looks 

Is  a  chronic  optic  weakness 

That  has  come  of  reading  books  ? 

Did  you  ever  see  his  vision 
Peering  underneath  a  hood, 

Save  enough  for  recognition, 
As  a  civil  person  should  ? 

Could  a  Capuchin  be  colder 
When  he  glances,  as  he  must, 

At  a  finely  rounded  shoulder, 
Or  a  proudly  swelling  bust  ? 

Madam  !  —  think  of  every  feature, 

Then  deny  it,  if  you  can, 
He  's  a  fond,  connubial  creature, 

And  a  very  married  man  ! 


A   COLLEGE   REMINISCENCE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  THOMAS  B.  THORPE,  ESQ.,  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

T"^\EAR  TOM,  have  you  forgot  the  day 
•'-'     When,  long  ago,  we  used  to  stray 

Among  the  "  Haddams  "  ? 
Where,  in  the  mucky  road,  a  man 
(The  road  was  built  on  Adam's  plan, 

And  not  McAdam's !) 


A    COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 

Went  down  —  down  —  down,  one  stormy  night, 
And  disappeared  from  human  sight, 

All  save  his  hat,  — 
Which  raised  in  sober  minds  a  sense 
Of  some  mysterious  Providence 

In  sparing  that  ? 

I  think  't  will  please  you,  Tom,  to  hear 
The  man  who  in  that  night  of  fear 

Went  down  terrestrial, 
Worked  out  a  passage  like  a  miner, 
And,  pricking  through  somewhere  in  China, 

Came  up  Celestial ! 

Ah  !  those  were  memorable  times, 
And  worth  embalming  in  my  rhymes, 

When,  at  the  summons 
Of  chapel  bell,  we  left  our  sport 
For  lessons  most  uncommon  short, 

Or  shorter  commons ! 

I  mind  me,  Tom,  you  often  drew 
Nice  portraits,  and  exceeding  true  — 

To  your  intention  ! 
The  most  impracticable  faces 
Discovered  unsuspected  graces, 

By  your  invention. 

On  brainless  heads  the  finest  bumps 
(Erected  by  your  pencil-thumps) 

Were  plainly  seen ; 
Your  Yankees  all  were  very  Greek, 
Unchosen  aunts  grew  "  choice  antique," 

And  blues  turned  green  ! 


132 


A    COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 

The  swarthy  suddenly  were  fair, 
And  yellow  changed  to  auburn  hair 

Or  sunny  flax ; 

And  people  very  thin  and  flat, 
Like  Aldermen  grew  round  and  fat 

On  canvas-backs  ! 

I  well  remember  all  your  art 

To  make  the  best  of  every  part,  — 

I  am  certain  no  man 
Could  better  coax  a  wrinkle  out, 
Or  elevate  a  lowly  snout, 

Or  snub  a  Roman  ! 

Young  gentlemen  with  leaden  eyes 
Stared  wildly  out  on  lowering  skies, 

Quite  Corsair-fashion  ; 
And  greenish  orbs  got  very  blue, 
And  linsey-woolsey  maidens  grew 

Almost  Circassian ! 

And  many  an  ancient  maiden  aunt 
As  lean  and  lank  as  John  O'Gaunt, 

Or  even  lanker, 

By  art  transformed  and  newly  drest, 
Could  boast  for  once  as  full  a  chest 

As  —  any  banker  ! 

Ah  !  we  were  jolly  youngsters  then, 
But  now  we  're  .sober-sided  men, 

Half  through  life's  journey  ; 
And  you  Ve  turned  author,  Tom,  I  hear, 
And  I  —  you  '11  think  it  very  queer  — 

Have  turned  attorney  ! 


EARLY  RISING. 

Heaven  bless  you,  Tom,  in  house  and  heart ! 
(That  we  should  live  so  far  apart 

Is  much  a  pity,) 

And  may  you  multiply  your  name, 
And  have  a  very  "  crescent "  fame, 

Just  like  your  city  ! 


EARLY    RISING. 

OD  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep !" 

So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I  : 
And  bless  him,  also,  that  he  did  n't  keep 

His  great  discovery  to  himself;  nor  try 
To  make  it  —  as  the  lucky  fellow  might  — 
A  close  monopoly  by  patent-right ! 

Yes  —  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep 

(I  really  can't  avoid  the  iteration) ; 
But  blast  the  man,  with  curses  loud  and  deep, 

Whate'er  the  rascal's  name,  or  age,  or  station, 
Who  first  invented,  and  went  round  advising, 
That  artificial  cut-off,  —  Early  Rising  ! 

"  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed," 
Observes  some  solemn,  sentimental  owl ; 

Maxims  like  these  are  very  cheaply  said  ; 
But,  ere  you  make  yourself  a  fool  or  fowl, 

Pray  just  inquire  about  his  rise  and  fall, 

And  whether  larks  have  any  beds  at  all ! 

The  time  for  honest  folks  to  be  abed 
Is  in  the  morning,  if  I  reason  right ; 


134 


EARL  Y  RISING. 


And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  precious  head 

Upon  his  pillow  till  it 's  fairly  light, 
And  so  enjoy  his  forty  morning  winks, 
Is  up  to  knavery ;  or  else  —  he  drinks  ! 

Thomson,  who  sung  about  the  "  Seasons,"  said 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in  season  ; 

But  then  he  said  it  —  lying  —  in  his  bed, 
At  ten  o'clock,  A.  M.,  —  the  very  reason 

He  wrote  so  charmingly.     The  simple  fact  is, 

His  preaching  was  n't  sanctioned  by  his  practice. 

'T  is,  doubtless,  well  to  be  sometimes  awake,  — 

Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to  truth,  — 
But  when,  alas  !  a  nice  review  we  take 

Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  we  find,  in  sooth, 
The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest  cause  to  weep 
Are  those  we  passed  in  childhood  or  asleep  ! 

'T  is  beautiful  to  leave  the  world  awhile 
For  the  soft  visions  of  the  gentle  night ; 

And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care  or  guile, 
To  live  as  only  in  the  angels'  sight, 

In  sleep's  sweet  realm  so  cosily  shut  in, 

Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream  of  sin  ! 

So  let  us  sleep,  and  give  the  Maker  praise. 

I  like  the  lad  who,  when  his  father  thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hackneyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  songster  caught, 
Cried,  "  Served  him  right !  —  it 's  not  at  all  surprising ; 
The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for  early  rising  ! " 


THE  LADY  ANN.  135 


THE    LADY    ANN. 

A  BALLAD. 

SHE  '11  soon  be  here,  the  Lady  Ann," 
The  children  cried  in  glee  ; 
"  She  always  comes  at  four  o'clock, 
And  now  it 's  striking  three." 

At  stroke  of  four  the  lady  came, 

A  lady  passing  fair  ; 
And  she  sat  and  gazed  adown  the  road, 

With  a  long  and  eager  stare. 

"  The  mail !  the  mail !  "  the  idlers  cried, 
At  sight  of  a  coach-and-four ; 

"  The  mail !  the  mail !  "  and  at  the  word, 
The  coach  was  at  the  door. 

Up  sprang  in  haste  the  Lady  Ann, 
And  marked  with  anxious  eye 

The  travellers,  who,  one  by  one, 
Were  slowly  passing  by. 

"  Alack  !  alack  !  "  the  lady  cried, 

"He  surely  named  to-day  ; 
He  '11  come  to-morrow,  then,"  she  sighed, 

And,  turning,  strolled  away. 

"'T  is  passing  odd,  upon  my  word," 

The  landlord  now  began  ; 
"  A  strange  romance  !  —  that  woman,  sirs, 

Is  called  the  Lady  Ann. 


136  THE  LADY  ANN. 

"  She  dwells  hard  by  upon  the  hill, 

The  widow  of  Sir  John, 
Who  died  abroad,  come  August  next, 

Just  twenty  years  agone. 

"  A  hearty  neighbor,  sirs,  was  he, 

A  bold,  true-hearted  man  ; 
And  a  fonder  pair  were  seldom  seen 

Than  he  and  Lady  Ann. 

"  They  scarce  had  been  a  twelvemonth  wed, 
When  —  ill  betide  the  day  !  — 

Sir  JOHN  was  called  to  go  in  haste 
Some  hundred  miles  away. 

"  Ne'er  lovers  in  the  fairy  tales 

A  truer  love  could  boast ; 
And  many  were  the  gentle  words 

That  came  and  went  by  post. 

"  A  month  or  more  had  passed  away, 
When  by  the  post  came  down 

The  joyous  news  that  such  a  day 
Sir  John  would  be  in  town. 

"  Full  gleesome  was  the  Lady  Ann 

To  read  the  welcome  word, 
And  promptly  at  the  hour  she  came, 

To  meet  her  wedded  lord. 

"  Alas !  alas  !  he  came  not  back  ! 

There  only  came  instead 
A  mournful  message  by  the  post, 

That  good  Sir  John  was  dead  ! 


THE  LADY  ANN. 

"One  piercing  shriek,  and  Lady  Ann 
Had  swooned  upon  the  floor  : 

Good  sirs,  it  was  a  fearful  grief 
That  gentle  lady  bore  ! 

"  We  raised  her  up  ;  her  ebbing  life 

Began  again  to  dawn  ; 
She  muttered  wildly  to  herself,  — 

'T  was  plain  her  wits  were  gone. 

"A  strange  forgetfulness  came  o'er 

Her  sad,  bewildered  mind, 
And  to  the  grief  that  drove  her  mad 

Her  memory  was  blind  ! 

"Ah  !  since  that  hour  she  little  wots 

Full  twenty  years  are  fled  ! 
She  little  wots,  poor  Lady  Ann  ! 

Her  wedded  lord  is  dead. 

"  But  each  returning  day  she  deems 

The  day  he  fixed  to  come  ; 
And  ever  at  the  wonted  hour 

She  's  here  to  greet  him  home. 

"  And  when  the  coach  is  at  the  door, 

She  marks  with  eager  eye 
The  travellers,  as  one  by  one 

They  're  slowly  passing  by. 

" '  Alack ! '  she  cries,  in  plaintive  tone, 

'  He  surely  named  to-day  ! 
He'll  come  to-morrow,  then,'  she  sighs, 
•  And,  turning,  strolls  away." 


137 


138  HOW  THE  MONEY  GOES. 


HOW    THE    MONEY    GOES. 

HOW  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Well, 
I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  hard  to  tell ; 
It  goes  for  rent,  and  water-rates, 
For  bread  and  butter,  coal  and  grates, 
Hats,  caps,  and  carpets,  hoops  and  hose,- 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Nay, 
Don't  everybody  know  the  way? 
It  goes  for  bonnets,  coats,  and  capes, 
Silks,  satins,  muslins,  velvets,  crapes, 
Shawls,  ribbons,  furs,  and  furbelows,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Sure, 

I  wish  the  ways  were  something  fewer ; 

It  goes  for  wages,  taxes,  debts  ; 

It  goes  for  presents,  goes  for  bets, 

For  paint,  pommade,  and  eau  de  rose,  — 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Now, 
I  've  scarce  begun  to  mention  how  ; 
It  goes  for  laces,  feathers,  rings, 
Toys,  dolls  —  and  other  baby-things, 
Whips,  whistles,  candies,  bells,  and  bows, 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Come, 
I  know  it  does  n't  go  for  rum ; 


SAINT  JONATHAN. 

It  goes  for  schools  and  Sabbath  chimes, 
It  goes  for  charity  —  sometimes  ; 
For  missions,  and  such  things  as  those, 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 

How  goes  the  money  ?  —  There  ! 
I  'm  out  of  patience,  I  declare  ; 
It  goes  for  plays,  and  diamond-pins, 
For  public  alms,  and  private  sins, 
For  hollow  shams,  and  silly  shows,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 


SAINT    JONATHAN. 

r  I  ""HERE  's  many  an  excellent  Saint, — 
-L     St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and  lance ; 
St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint ; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance ; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul ; 

St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot ! 

He  wears  a  most  serious  face, 

Well  worthy  a  martyr's  possessing ; 
But  it  is  n't  all  owing  to  grace, 

But  partly  to  thinking  and  guessing ; 
In  sooth,  our  American  Saint 

Has  rather  a  secular  bias, 
And  I  never  have  heard  a  complaint 

Of  his  being  excessively  pious  ! 


I40  SAINT  JONATHAN. 

He 's  fond  of  financial  improvement, 

And  is  always  extremely  inclined 
To  be  starting  some  practical  movement 

For  mending  the  morals  and  mind. 
Do  you  ask  me  what  wonderful  labors 

ST.  JONATHAN  ever  has  done 
To  rank  with  his  Calendar  neighbors  ? 

Just  listen,  a  moment,  to  one  : 

One  day  when  a  flash  in  the  air 

Split  his  meeting-house  fairly  asunder, 
Quoth  JONATHAN,  "  Now  —  I  declare  — 

They  're  dreadfully  careless  with  thunder ! " 
So  he  fastened  a  rod  to  the  steeple  ; 

And  now,  when  the  lightning  comes  round, 
He  keeps  it  from  building  and  people, 

By  running  it  into  the  ground ! 

Reflecting,  with  pleasant  emotion, 

On  the  capital  job  he  had  done, 
Quoth  JONATHAN  :  "  I  have  a  notion 

Improvements  have  barely  begun  ; 
If  nothing 's  created  in  vain,  — 

As  ministers  often  inform  us,  — 
The  lightning  that 's  wasted,  't  is  plain 

Is  really  something  enormous  !  " 

While  ciphering  over  the  thing, 

At  length  he  discovered  a  plan 
To  catch  the  Electrical  King, 

And  make  him  the  servant  of  man ; ' 
And  now,  in  an  orderly  way, 

He  flies  on  the  fleetest  of  pinions, 
And  carries  the  news  of  the  day 

All  over  his  master's  dominions  ! 


SAINT  JONATHAN.  14 n 

One  morning,  while  taking  a  stroll, 

He  heard  a  lugubrious  cry, — 
Like  the  shriek  of  a  suffering  soul,  — 

In  a  Hospital  standing  near  by; 
Anon,  such  a  terrible  groan 

Saluted  ST.  JONATHAN'S  ear, 
That  his  bosom  —  which  was  n't  of  stone  — 

Was  melted  with  pity  to  hear. 

That  night  he  invented  a  charm 

So  potent  that  folks  who  employ  it, 
In  losing  a  leg  or  an  arm, 

Don't  suffer,  but  rather  enjoy  it ! 
A  miracle,  you  must  allow, 

As  good  as  the  best  of  his  brothers,  — 
And  blessdd  ST.  JONATHAN  now 

Is  patron  of  cripples  and  mothers! 

There  's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  — 

St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and  lance ; 
St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint ; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance ; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul ; 

St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot ! 


142  SONG   OF  SARATOGA. 


SONG    OF    SARATOGA. 

"  T3RAY,  what  do  they  do  at  the  Springs  ?" 

•*-      The  question  is  easy  to  ask ; 
But  to  answer  it  fully,  my  dear, 

Were  rather  a  serious  task. 
And  yet,  in  a  bantering  way, 

As  the  magpie  or  mocking-bird  sings, 
I  '11  venture  a  bit  of  a  song 

To  tell  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  1 

Imprimis,  my  darling,  they  drink 

The  waters  so  sparkling  and  clear  ; 
Though  the  flavor  is  none  of  the  best, 

And  the  odor  exceedingly  queer  ; 
But  the  fluid  is  mingled,  you  know, 

With  wholesome  medicinal  things, 
So  they  drink,  and  they  drink,  and  they  drink,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  ! 

Then  with  appetites  keen  as  a  knife, 

They  hasten  to  breakfast  or  dine  ; 
(The  latter  precisely  at  three  ; 

The  former  from  seven  till  nine.) 
Ye  gods  !  what  a  rustle  and  rush 

When  the  eloquent  dinner-bell  rings  ! 
Then  they  eat,  and  they  eat,  and  they  eat,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  ! 

Now  they  stroll  in  the  beautiful  walks, 

Or  loll  in  the  shade  of  the  trees ; 
Where  many  a  whisper  is  heard 

That  never  is  told  by  the  breeze  ; 


TALE   OF  A   DOG.  143 

And  hands  are  commingled  with  hands, 

Regardless  of  conjugal  rings  ; 
And  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  ! 

The  drawing-rooms  now  are  ablaze, 

And  music  is  shrieking  away  ; 
TERPSICHORE  governs  the  hour, 

And  FASHION  was  never  so  gay  ! 
An  arm  round  a  tapering  waist,  — 

How  closely  and  fondly  it  clings  : 
So  they  waltz,  and  they  waltz,  and  they  waltz,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs ! 

In  short  —  as  it  goes  in  the  world : — 

They  eat,  and  they  drink,  and  they  sleep  ; 
They  talk,  and  they  walk,  and  they  woo ; 

They  sigh,  and  they  laugh,  and  they  weep ; 
They  read,  and  they  ride,  and  they  dance  ; 

(With  other  unspeakable  things  ;) 
They  pray,  and  they  play,  and  they  pay,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  ! 


TALE   OF  A  DOG. 

IN    TWO    PARTS. 

PART     FIRST. 

I. 

on  all  curs  ! "  I  heard  a  cynic  cry ; 
^"     A  wider  malediction  than  he  thought,  — 
For  what 's  a  cynic  ?  —  Had  he  cast  his  eye 
Within  his  dictionary,  he  had  caught 


I44  TALE   OF  A  DOG. 

This  much  of  learning,  —  the  untutored  elf,  — 
That  he,  unwittingly,  had  cursed  himself ! 

II. 

"  Beware  of  dogs,"  the  great  Apostle  writes  ; 

A  rather  brief  and  sharp  philippic  sent 
To  the  Philippians.     The  paragraph  invites 

Some  little  question  as  to  its  intent, 
Among  the  best  expositors  ;  but  then 
I  find  they  all  agree  triat  "  dogs  "  meant  men  ! 

in. 
Beware  of  men !  a  moralist  might  say, 

And  women  too  ;  't  were  but  a  prudent  hint, 
Well  worth  observing  in  a  general  way, 

But  having  surely  no  conclusion  in  't, 
(As  saucy  satirists  are  wont  to  rail,) 
All  men  are  faithless,  and  all  women  fraiL 

IV. 

And  so  of  dogs  't  were  wrong  to  dogmatize 
Without  discrimination  or  degree ; 

For  one  may  see,  with  half  a  pair  of  eyes, 
That  they  have  characters  as  well  as  we  : 

I  hate  the  rascal  who  can  walk  the  street 

Caning  all  canines  he  may  chance  to  meet. 

V. 

I  had  a  dog  that  was  not  all  a  dog, 

For  in  his  nature  there  was  something  human  ; 
Wisely  he  looked  as  any  pedagogue  ; 

Loved  funerals  and  weddings,  like  a  woman  ; 
With  this  (still  human)  weakness,  I  confess, 
Of  always  judging  people  by  their  dress. 


TALE   OF  A   DOG. 


145 


VI. 
He  hated  beggars,  it  was  very  clear, 

And  oft  was  seen  to  drive  them  from  the  door ; 
But  that  was  education  ;  —  for  a  year, 

Ere  yet  his  puppyhood  was  fairly  o'er, 
He  lived  with  a  Philanthropist,  and  caught 
His  practices  ;  the  precepts  he  forgot! 

VII. 
Which  was  a  pity  ;  yet  the  dog,  I  grant, 

Led,  on  the  whole,  a  very  worthy  life. 
To  teach  you  industry,  "  Go  to  the  ant," 

(I  mean  the  insect,  not  your  uncle's  wife ;) 
But  —  though  the  counsel  sounds  a  little  rude  — 
Go  to  the  dogs,  for  love  and  gratitude. 


PART    SECOND. 
VIII. 

"  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  the  poet  cries  ; 

A  downright  insult  to  the  canine  race ; 
There 's  not  a  puppy  but  is  far  too  wise 

To  put  a  pill  or  powder  in  his  face. 
Perhaps  the  poet  merely  meant  to  say, 
That  physic,  thrown  to  dogs,  is  thrown  away,  — 

IX. 

Which  (as  the  parson  said  about  the  dice) 
Is  the  best  throw  that  any  man  can  choose  ; 

Take,  if  you  're  ailing,  medical  advice,  — 

Minus  the  medicine,  —  which,  of  course,  refuse. 

Drugging,  no  doubt,  occasioned  Homoeopathy, 

And  all  the  dripping  horrors  of  Hydropathy. 

7  J 


146  TALE   OF  A  DOG. 

X. 

At  all  events,  't  is  fitting  to  remark, 

Dogs  spurn  at  drugs ;  their  daily  bark  and  whine 
Are  not  at  all  the  musty  wine  and  bark 

The  doctors  give  to  patients  in  decline  ; 
And  yet  a  dog  who  felt  a  fracture's  smart 
Once  thanked  a  kind  chirurgeon  for  his  art. 


XI. 

I  Ve  heard  a  story,  and  believe  it  true, 

About  a  dog  that  chanced  to  break  his  leg ; 

His  master  set  it  and  the  member  grew 
Once  more  a  sound  and  serviceable  peg ; 

And  how  d'  ye  think  the  happy  dog  exprest 

The  grateful  feelings  of  his  glowing  breast  ? 

XII. 

'T  was  not  in  words  ;  the  customary  pay 
Of  human  debtors  for  a  friendly  act ; 

For  dogs  their  thoughts  can  neither  sing  nor  say 
E'en  in  "  dog-latin,"  which  (a  curious  fact) 

Is  spoken  only  —  as  a  classic  grace  — 

By  grave  Professors  of  the  human  race ! 

XIII. 

No,  't  was  in  deed ;  the  very  briefest  tail 
Declared  his  deep  emotions  at  his  cure  ; 

Short,  but  significant ;  —  one  could  not  fail, 
From  the  mere  wagging  of  his  cynosure 

("  Surgens  zpuppt"),  and  his  ears  agog, 

To  see  the  fellow  was  a  grateful  dog ! 


THE  JOLLY  MARINER.  147 

XIV. 

One  day  —  still  mindful  of  his  late  disaster  — 
He  wandered  off  the  village  to  explore  ; 

And  brought  another  dog  unto  his  master, 
Lame  of  a  leg,  as  he  had  been  before  ; 

As  who  should  say,  "  You  see  !  —  the  dog  is  lame  : 

You  doctored  me,  pray  doctor  him  the  same  ! " 

xv. 
So  runs  the  story,  and  you  have  it  cheap,  — 

Dog-cheap,  as  doubtless  such  a  tale  should  be ; 
The  moral,  surely,  is  n't  hard  to  reap  :  — 

Be  prompt  to  listen  unto  mercy's  plea ; 
The  good  you  get,  diffuse  ;  it  will  not  hurt  you 
E'en  from  a  dog  to  learn  a  Christian  virtue  ! 


THE    JOLLY    MARINER. 

A   BALLAD. 

T  T  was  a  jolly  mariner 
•*-  As  ever  hove  a  log  ; 
He  wore  his  trousers  wide  and  free, 

And  always  ate  his  prog, 
And  blessed  his  eyes,  in  sailor-wise, 

And  never  shirked  his  grog. 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 
Whilst  walking  up  and  down  :  — 

"  The  briny  sea  has  pickled  me, 
And  done  me  very  brown  ; 

But  here  I  goes,  in  these  here  clo'es, 
A-cruising;  in  the  town  !  " 


148  THE  JOLLY  MARINER. 

The  first  of  all  the  curious  things 
That  chanced  his  eye  to  meet, 

As  this  undaunted  mariner 
Went  sailing  up  the  street, 

Was,  tripping  with  a  little  cane, 
A  dandy  all  complete  ! 

He  stopped,  —  that  jolly  mariner,  — 
And  eyed  the  stranger  well :  — 

"  What  that  may  be,"  he  said,  says  he, 
"Is  more  than  I  can  tell ; 

But  ne'er  before,  on  sea  or  shore, 
Was  such  a  heavy  swell !  " 

He  met  a  lady  in  her  hoops, 

And  thus  she  heard  him  hail :  — 

"  Now  blow  me  tight !  —  but  there  's  a  sight 
To  manage  in  a  gale  ! 

I  never  saw  so  small  a  craft 
With  such  a  spread  o'  sail ! 

"  Observe  the  craft  before  and  aft,  — 

She  'd  make  a  pretty  prize  !  " 
And  then  in  that  improper  way 

He  spoke  about  his  eyes, 
That  mariners  are  wont  to  use 

In  anger  or  surprise. 

He  saw  a  plumber  on  a  roof, 

Who  made  a  mighty  din  :  — 
"  Shipmate,  ahoy  ! "  the  rover  cried, 

"  It  makes  a  sailor  grin 
To  see  you  copper-bottoming 

Your  upper  decks  with  tin !  " 


THE  JOLL  Y  MARINER.  149 

He  met  a  yellow-bearded  man, 

And  asked  about  the  way ; 
But  not  a  word  could  he  make  out 

Of  what  the  chap  would  say, 
Unless  he  meant  to  call  him  names, 

By  screaming,  "  Nix  furstay  ! " 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 

And  to  the  man  said  he  :  — 
"  I  have  n't  sailed  these  thirty  years 

Upon  the  stormy  sea, 
To  bear  the  shame  of  such  a  name 

As  I  have  heard  from  thee  ! 

"  So  take  thou  that ! "  —  and  laid  him  flat : 

But  soon  the  man  arose, 
And  beat  the  jolly  mariner 

Across  his  jolly  nose, 
Till  he  was  fain,  from  very  pain, 

To  yield  him  to  the  blows. 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner, 

A  wretched  jolly  tar, 
Wished  he  was  in  a  jolly-boat 

Upon  the  sea  afar, 
Or  riding  fast,  before  the  blast,- 

Upon  a  single  spar  ! 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner 

Returned  unto  his  ship, 
And  told  unto  the  wondering  crew 

The  story  of  his  trip, 
With  many  oaths  and  curses,  too, 

Upon  his  wicked  lip !  — 


I5o        TOM  BROWWS  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 

As  hoping  —  so  this  mariner 
In  fearful  words  harangued  — 

His  timbers  might  be  shivered,  and 
His  le'ward  scuppers  danged, 

(A  double  curse,  and  vastly  worse 
Than  being  shot  or  hanged  !) 

If  ever  he  —  and  here  again 
A  dreadful  oath  he  swore  — 

If  ever  he,  except  at  sea, 
Spoke  any  stranger  more, 

Or  like  a  son  of — something  —  went 
A-cruising-  on  the  shore ! 


TOM   BROWN'S   DAY   IN   GOTHAM. 

"  Qui  mores  hominum  multorum  vidit  et  urbem." 

I'LL  tell  you  a  story  of  THOMAS  BROWN,  — 
I  don't  mean  the  poet  of  Shropshire  town  ; 
Nor  the  Scotch  Professor  of  wide  renown  ; 
But  "  Honest  Tom  Brown  "  ;  so  called,  no  doubt, 
Because  with  the  same 
Identical  name, 

A  good  many  fellows  were  roving  about 
Of  whom  the  sheriff  might  prudently  swear 
That  "  honest  "  with  them  was  a  non-est  affair  ! 

Now  Tom  was  a  Yankee  of  wealth  and  worth, 
Who  lived  and  throve  by  tilling  the  Earth ; 

For  Tom  had  wrought 

As  a  farmer  ought, 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM.       j 

Who,  doomed  to  toil  by  original  sinning, 
Began  —  like  Adam  —  at  the  beginning. 
He  ploughed,  he  harrowed,  and  he  sowed  ; 
He  drilled,  he  planted,  and  he  hoed  ; 
He  dug  and  delved,  and  reaped  and  mowed. 
(I  wish  I  could  —  but  I  can't  —  tell  now 
Whether  he  used  a  subsoil-plough  ; 
Or  whether,  in  sooth,  he  had  ever  seen 
A  regular  reaping  and  raking  machine.) 

He  took  most  pains 

With  the  nobler  grains 
Of  higher  value,  and  finer  tissues 

Which,  possibly,  one 

Inclined  to  a  pun, 

Would  call  —  like  Harper  —  his  "  cereal  issues  ! " 
With  wheat  his  lands  were  all  ablaze  ; 
'T  was  amazing  to  look  at  his  fields  of  maize ; 

And  there  were  places 

That  showed  ry^-faces 
As  pleasant  to  see  as  so  many  Graces. 

And  as  for  Hops, 

His  annual  crops, 

(So  very  extensive  that,  on  my  soul, 
They  fairly  reached  from  pole  to  pole !) 
Would  beat  the  guess  of  any  old  fogie, 
Or  —  the  longest  season  at  Saratoga  ! 
Whatever  seed  did  most  abound, 
In  the  grand  result  that  Autumn  found, 

It  was  his  plan, 

Though  a  moderate  man, 
To  be  early  running  it  into  the  ground ; 

That  is  to  say, 

In  another  way  :  — 


152 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


Whether  the  seed  was  barley  or  hay, 
Large  or  little,  or  green  or  gray,  — 
Provided  only  it  promised  to  "pay,"- 
He  never  chose  to  labor  in  vain 
By  stupidly  going  against  the  grain, 
But  hastened  away,  without  stay  or  stop, 
And  carefully  put  it  into  his  crop. 

And  he  raised  tomatoes 

And  lots  of  potatoes, 
More  sorts,  in  sooth,  than  I  could  tell ; 
Turnips,  that  always  turned  up  well ; 
Celery,  all  that  he  could  sell ; 
Grapes  by  the  bushel,  sour  and  sweet ; 
Beets,  that  certainly  could  n't  be  beat ; 
Cabbage  —  like  some  sartorial  mound  ; 
Vines,  that  fairly  ^//-cumbered  the  ground ; 
Some  pumpkins  —  more  than  he  could  house,  and 
Ten  thousand  pears  ;  (that  's  twenty  thousand  !) 
Fruit  of  all  kinds  and  propagations, 
Baldwins,  Pippins,  and  Carnations, 
And  apples  of  other  appellations. 
To  sum  it  all  up  in  the  briefest  space, 
As  you  may  suppose,  Brown  flourished  apace, 
Just  because  he  proceeded,  I  venture  to  say, 
In  the  nulla-retrorsum  vesttgi-OMS  way  ; 
That  is  —  if  you  're  not  University-bred  — 
He  took  Crocket's  advice  about  going  ahead. 
At  all  the  State  Fairs  he  held  a  fair  station, 
Raised  horses  and  cows  and  his  own  reputation  ; 
Made  butter  and  money  ;  took  a  Justice's  niche  ; 
Grew  wheat,  wool,  and  hemp  ;  corn,  cattle,  and — rich! 
But  who  would  be  always  a  country-clown  ? 

And  so  Tom  Brown 

Sat  himself  down 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


153 


And,  knitting  his  brow  in  a  studious  frown, 

He  said,  says  he  :  — 

It  's  plain  to  see, 

And  I  think  Mrs.  B.  will  be  apt  to  agree 
(If  she  don't,  it 's  much  the  same  to  me), 

That  I,  TOM  BROWN, 

Should  go  to  town  ! 

But  then,  says  he,  what  town  shall  it  be  ? 
Boston-town  is  consid'rably  nearer, 
And  York  is  farther,  and  so  will  be  dearer, 
But  then,  of  course,  the  sights  will  be  queerer ; 
Besides,  I  'm  told,  you  're  surely  a  lost  'un, 
If  you  once  get  astray  in  the  streets  of  Boston. 

York  is  right-angled  ; 

And  Boston,  right-tangled  ; 

And  both,  I  Ve  no  doubt,  are  uncommon  new-fangled. 
Ah  ! —  the  "  SMITHS,"  I  remember,  belong  to  York, 
('T  was  ten  years  ago  I  sold  them  my  pork,) 
Good,  honest  traders  —  I  'd  like  to  know  them  — 
And  so  —  't  is  settled  —  I  '11  go  to  Gotham  ! 

And  so  Tom  Brown 
Sat  himself  down, 

With  many  a  smile  and  never  a  frown, 
And  rode,  by  rail,  to  that  notable  town 
Which  I  really  think  well  worthy  of  mention 
As  being  America's  greatest  invention  ! 
Indeed,  I  '11  be  bound  that  if  Nature  and  Art, 
(Though  the  former,  being  older,  has  gotten  the  start,) 
In  some  new  Crystal  Palace  of  suitable  size 
Should  show  their  chefs-d''(£u'vre,  and  contend  for  the 

prize 

The  latter  would  prove,  when  it  came  to  the  scratch, 
Whate'er  you  may  think,  no  contemptible  match  ; 


154 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


For  should  old  Mrs.  Nature  endeavor  to  stagger  her 
By  presenting,  at  last,  her  majestic  Niagara ; 
Miss  Art  would  produce  an  equivalent  work 
In  her  great,  overwhelming,  unfinished  NEW  YORK  ! 

And  now  Mr.  Brown 

Was  fairly  in  town, 

In  that  part  of  the  city  they  used  to  call  "  down," 
Not  far  from  the  spot  of  ancient  renown 

As  being  the  scene 

Of  the  Bowling  Green, 
A  fountain  that  looked  like  a  huge  tureen 
Piled  up  with  rocks,  and  a  squirt  between ; 
But  the  "  Bowling  "  now  has  gone  where  they  tally 
"  The  Fall  of  the  Ten,"  in  a  neighboring  alley ; 
And  as  to  the  "  Green  "  —  why,  that  you  will  find 
Whenever  you  see  the  "  invisible  "  kind  !  — 
And  he  stopped  at  an  Inn  that 's  known  very  well, 
"  Delmonico's  "  once  —  now  "  Stevens  Hotel "  ; 
(And,  to  venture  a  pun  which  I  think  rather  witty, 
There  's  no  better  Inn  in  this  Inn-famous  city  !) 

And  Mr.  Brown 

Strolled  up  town, 

And  I  'm  going  to  write  his  travels  down ; 
But  if  you  suppose  Tom  Brown  will  disclose 
The  usual  sins  and  follies  of  those 
Who  leave  rural  regions  to  see  city-shows,  — 

You  could  n't  well  make 

A  greater  mistake ; 

For  Brown  was  a  man  of  excellent  sense  ; 
Could  see  very  well  through  a  hole  in  a  fence, 
And  was  honest  and  plain,  without  sham  or  pretence ; 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM.       j 

Of  sharp,  city-learning  he  could  n't  have  boasted, 
But  he  was  n't  the  chap  to  be  easily  roasted. 

And  here  let  me  say, 
In  a  very  dogmatic,  oracular  way, 
(And  I  '11  prove  it,  before  I  have  done  with  my  lay,) 
Not  only  that  honesty  's  likely  to  "pay," 
But  that  one  must  be,  as  a  general  rule, 
At  least  half  a  knave  to  be  wholly  a  fool ! 

Of  pocketbook-dropping  Tom  never  had  heard, 

(Or  at  least  if  he  had,  he  'd  forgotten  the  word,) 

And  now  when,  at  length,  the  occasion  occurred, 

For  that  sort  of  chaff  he  was  n't  the  bird. 

The  gentleman  argued  with  eloquent  force, 

And  begged  him  to  pocket  the  money,  of  course  ; 

But  Brown,  without  thinking  at  all  what  he  said, 

Popped  out  the  first  thing  that  entered  his  head, 

(Which  chanced  to  be  wondrously  fitting  and  true,) 

"  No  —  no  —  my  dear  Sir  —  I  '11  be  burnt  if  I  do  !  " 

Two  lively  young  fellows,  of  elegant  mien, 

Amused  him  awhile  with  a  pretty  machine,  — 

An  ivory  ball,  which  he  never  had  seen. 

But  though  the  unsuspecting  stranger 

In  the  "patent  safe  "  saw  no  patent  danger, 

He  easily  dodged  the  nefarious  net, 

Because  "he  was  n't  accustomed  to  bet."_ 

Ah  !  —  here,  I  wot, 

Is  exactly  the  spot 

To  make  a  small  fortune  as  easy  as  not ! 
That  man  with  the  watch  —  what  lungs  he  has  got ! 
It  's  "  Going  —  the  best  of  that  elegant  lot  — 
To  close  a  concern,  at  a  desperate  rate, 
The  jeweller  ruined  as  certain  as  fate  ! 


!56       TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 

A  capital  watch  !  —  you  may  see  by  the  weight  — 
Worth  one  hundred  dollars  as  easy  as  eight  — 
Or  half  of  that  sum  to  melt  down  into  plate  — 
(Brown  does  n't  know  "  Peter  "  from  Peter  the  Great) 

But  then  I  can't  dwell, 

I  'm  ordered  to  sell, 

And  mus'  n't  stand  weeping  —  just  look  at  the  shell  — 
I  warrant  the  ticker  to  operate  well  — 
Nine  dollars  !  —  it 's  hard  to  be  selling  it  under 
A  couple  of  fifties  —  it 's  cruel,  by  Thunder  ! 
Ten  dollars  !  —  I  'm  offered  —  the  man  who  secures 
This  splendid  —  ten  dollars  !  —  say  twelve,    and  it  's 

yours ! " 
"  Don't  want  it  "  —  quoth  Brown  —  "I  don't  wish  to 

buy  ; 

Fifty  dollars,  I  'm  sure,  one  could  n't  call  high  — 
But  to  see  the  man  mined! —  Dear  Sir,  I  declare  — - 
Between  two  or  three  bidders,  it  does  n't  seem  fair  ; 
To  knock  it  off  now  were  surely  a  sin  ; 
Just  wait,  my  dear  Sir,  till  the  people  come  in  ! 
Allow  me  to  say,  you  disgrace  your  position 
As  Sheriff — consid'ring  the  debtor's  condition  — 
To  sell  such  a  watch  without  more  competition  !  " 

And  here  Mr.  Brown 

Gave  a  very  black  frown, 

Stepped  leisurely  out,  and  walked  farther  up  town. 
To  see  him  stray  along  Broadway 
In  the  afternoon  of  a  summer's  day, 
And  note  what  he  chanced  to  see  and  say  ; 

And  what  people  he  meets 

In  the  narrower  streets, 
Were  a  pregnant  theme  for  a  longer  lay. 
How  he  marvelled  at  those  geological  chaps 
Who  go  poking  about  in  crannies  and  gaps, 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


157 


Those  curious  people  in  tattered  breeches, 

The  rag-wearing,  rag-picking  sons  of —  ditches, 

Who  find  in  the  very  nastiest  niches 

A  "  decent  living,"  and  sometimes  riches ; 

How  he  thought  city  prices  exceedingly  queer, 

The  'busses  too  cheap,  and  the  hacks  too  dear ; 

How  he  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  got  lost  in  the  question — 

A  problem  too  hard  for  his  mental  digestion  — 

Why  —  in  cleaning  the  city,  the  city  employs 

Such  a  very  small  corps  of  such  very  small  boys ; 

How  he  judges  by  dress,  and  accordingly  makes, 

By  mixing  up  classes,  the  drollest  mistakes. 

How  —  as  if  simple  vanity  ever  were  vicious, 

Or  women  of  merit  could  be  meretricious,  — 

He  imagines  the  dashing  Fifth-Avenue  dames 

The  same  as  the  girls_with  unspeakable  names ! 

An  exceedingly  natural  blunder  in  sooth, 

But,  I  'm  happy  to  say,  very  far  from  the  truth ; 

For  e'en  at  the  worst,  whate'er  you  suppose, 

The  one  sort  of  ladies  can  choose  their  beaux, 

While,  as  to  the  other  —  but  every  one  knows 

What  —  if 't  were  a  secret  —  I  would  n't  disclose. 

And  Mr.  Brown 

Returned  from  town, 

With  a  bran  new  hat,  and  a  muslin  gown, 
And  he  told  the  tale,  when  the  sun  was  down, 
How  he  spent  his  eagles,  and  saved  his  crown  ; 
How  he  showed  his  pluck  by  resisting  the  claim 
Of  an  impudent  fellow  who  asked  his  name  ; 
But  paid  —  as.  a  gentleman  ever  is  willing  — 
At  the  old  Park-Gate,  the  regular  shilling  ! 


YE    TAILYOR-MAN. 
YE    TAILYOR-MAN. 

A  CONTEMPLATIVE  BALLAD. 

RIGHT  jollie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 
As  annie  man  may  be  ; 
And  all  ye  daye  upon  ye  benche 
He  worketh.  merrilie. 

And  oft  ye  while  in  pleasante  wise 
He  coileth  up  his  lymbes, 

He  singeth  songs  ye  like  whereof 
Are  not  in  Watts  his  hymns. 

And  yet  he  toileth  all  ye  while 
His  merrie  catches  rolle  ; 

As  true  unto  ye  needle  as 
Ye  needle  to  ye  pole. 

What  cares  ye  valiant  tailyor-man 
For  all  ye  cowarde  feares  ? 

Against  ye  scissors  of  ye  Fates 
He  pointes  his  mightie  sheares. 

He  heedeth  not  ye  anciente  jests 
That  witlesse  sinners  use  ; 

What  feareth  ye  bolde  tailyor-man 
Ye  hissinge  of  a  goose  ? 

He  pulleth  at  ye  busie  threade, 
To  feede  his  lovinge  wife 

And  eke  his  childe  ;  for  unto  them 
It  is  ye  threade  of  life. 


THE  DEVIL    OF  NAMES. 

He  cutteth  well  ye  riche  man's  coate, 
And  with  unseemlie  pride 

He  sees  ye  little  waistcoate  in 
Ye  cabbage  bye  his  side. 

Meanwhile  ye  tailyor-man  his  wife, 

To  labor  nothinge  loth, 
Sits  bye  with  readie  hande  to  baste 

Ye  urchin  and  ye  cloth. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

Yet  is  he  often  tried, 
Lest  he,  from  fullnesse  of  ye  dimes, 

Wax  wanton  in  his  pride. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

And  yet  he  hath  a  foe, 
A  cunninge  enemie  that  none 

So  well  as  tailyors  knowe. 

It  is  ye  slipperie  customer 
Who  goes  his  wicked  wayes, 

And  weares  ye  tailyor-man  his  coate 
But  never,  never  payes  ! 


THE    DEVIL    OF    NAMES. 

A     LEGEND. 

AT  an  old-fashioned  inn,  with  a  pendulous  sign, 
Once  graced  with  the  head  of  the  king  of  the  kine, 
But  innocent  now  of  the  slightest  "  design," 
Save  calling  low  people  to  spurious  wine,  — 


160  THE  DEVIL    OF  NAMES. 

While  the  villagers,  drinking  and  playing  "  all  fours," 

And  cracking  small  jokes,  with  vociferous  roars, 

Were  talking  of  horses,  and  hunting,  and  —  scores 

Of  similar  topics  a  bar-room  adores, 

But  which  rigid  morality  greatly  deplores, 

Till  as  they  grew  high  in  their  bacchanal  revels, 

They  fell  to  discoursing  of  witches  and  devils,  — 

A  neat  single  rap, 

Just  the  ghost  of  a  tap, 

That  would  scarcely  have  wakened  a  flea  from  his  nap, 
Not  at  all  in  its  sound  like  your  "  Rochester  Knocking," 
(Where  asses  in  herds  are  diurnally  flocking,) 
But  twice  as  mysterious,  and  vastly  more  shocking, 
Was  heard  at  the  door  by  the  people  within, 
Who  stopped  in  a  moment  their  clamorous  din, 
And  ceased  in  a  trice  from  their  jokes  and  their  gin  ; 

When  who  should  appear 

But  an  odd-looking  stranger  somewhat  "  in  the  sere," 
(He  seemed  at  the  least  in  his  sixtieth  year,) 
And  he  limped  in  a  manner  exceedingly  queer, 
Wore  breeches  uncommonly  wide  in  the  rear, 
And  his  nose  was  turned  up  with  a  comical  sneer, 
And  he  had  in  his  eye  a  most  villanous  leer, 
Quite  enough  to  make  any  one  tremble  with  fear ! 

Whence  he  came, 

And  what  was  his  name, 
And  what  his  purpose  in  venturing  out, 
And  whether  his  lameness  was  "gammon"  or  gout, 
Or  merely  fatigue  from  strolling  about, 
Were  questions  involved  in  a  great  deal  of  doubt,  — 

When,  taking  a  chair, 

With  a  sociable  air, 

Like  that  which  your  "  Uncle  "  's  accustomed  to  wear, 
Or  a  broker  determined  to  sell  you  a  share 


THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES.  j6i 

In  his  splended  "New  England  Gold-mining"  affair, 

He  opened  his  mouth  and  went  on  to  declare 

That  he  was  a  devil !  —  "  The  devil  you  are  !  " 

Cried  one  of  the  guests  assembled  there, 

With  a  sudden  start,  and  a  frightened  stare  ! 

"  Nay,  don't  be  alarmed,"  the  stranger  exclaims, 

"  At  the  name  of  the  devil,  —  / ''in  the  Devil  of  Names  ! 

You  '11  wonder  why 

Such  a  devil  as  I, 

Who  ought,  you  would  say,  to  be  devilish  shy, 
Should  venture  in  here  with  never  a  doubt, 
And  let  the  best  of  his  secrets  out ; 

But  mind  you,  my  boys, 

It 's  one  of  the  joys 

Of  the  cunningest  woman  and  craftiest  man, 
To  run  as  quickly  as  ever  they  can, 
And  put  a  confidante  under  ban 
Not  to  publish  their  favorite  plan  ! 

And  even  the  de'il 

Will  sometimes  feel 
A  little  of  that  remarkable  zeal, 
And  (when  it 's  safe)  delights  to  tell 
The  very  deepest  arcana  of —  well ;  — 
Besides,  my  favor  this  company  wins, 
For  I  value  next  to  capital  sins 
Those  out-and-outers  who  revel  in  inns  ! 

So,  not  to  delay, 

I  'm  going  to  say, 

In  the  very  fullest  and  frankest  way, 
All  about  my  honors  and  claims, 
Projects  and  plans,  and  objects  and  aims, 
And  why  I  'm  called  '  The  Devil  of  Names  ! ' 

I  cheat  by  false  graces, 

And  duplicate  faces, 


162  THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES. 

And  treacherous  praises, 
And  by  hiding  bad  things  under  plausible  phrases  ! 

I  '11  give  you  a  sample, 

By  way  of  example  : 

Here  's  a  bottle  before  me,  will  suit  to  a  T 
For  a  nice  illustration  :  this  liquor,  d'  ye  see, 
Is  the  water  of  death,  though  topers  agree 
To  think  it,  and  drink  it,  as  pure  '  eau  de  -vie ' ; 
/  know  what  it  is,  — •  that 's  sufficient  for  me  ! 
For  the  blackest  of  sins,  and  crimes,  and  shames, 
I  find  soft  words  and  innocent  names. 
The  Hells  devoted  to  Satan's  games 
I  christen  'Saloons'  and  'Halls,'  and  then, 
By  another  contrivance  of  mine  again, 
They're  only  haunted  by  'sporting  men,'  — 
A  phrase  which  many  a  gamester  begs, 
In  spite  of  the  saw  that  'eggs  is  eggs,' 
To  whiten  his  nigritudinous  legs  ! 

"  To  debauchees  I  graciously  grant 
The  favor  to  be  '  a  little  gallant,' 
And  soften  vicious  vagrancy  down, 
By  civilly  speaking  of  '  men  about  town ' ; 
There  's  cheating  and  lying 
In  selling  and  buying, 

And  all  sorts  of  frauds  and  dishonest  exactions, 
I  've  brought  to  the  smallest  of  moral  infractions, 
Merely  by  naming  them  '  business  transactions '  ! 
There  's  swindling,  now,  is  vastly  more  fine 
As  'Banking,'  —  a  lucky  invention  of  mine, 
Worth  ten  in  the  old  diabolical  line  ! 

"  In  lesser  matters  it 's  all  the  same, 
I  gain  the  thing  by  yielding  the  name  ; 


THE  DEVIL    OF  NAMES.  163 

It 's  really  quite  the  broadest  of  jokes, 
But,  on  my  honor,  there  's  plenty  of  folks 
So  uncommonly  fond  of  verbal  cloaks, 
They  can't  enjoy  the  dinners  they  eat, 
Court  the  '  muse  of  the  twinkling  feet,' 
Laugh  or  sing,  or  do  anything  meet 
For  Christian  people,  without  a  cheat 
To  make  their  happiness  quite  complete  ! 

The  Boston  saints 

Are  fond  of  these  feints  ; 
A  theatre  rouses  the  loudest  complaints, 
Till  it 's  thoroughly  purged  from  pestilent  taints, 
By  the  charm  of  a  name  and  a  pious  Te  Deum,  — 
Yet  they  patronize  actors,  and  handsomely  fee  'em ! 
Keep  (shade  of  'the  Howards!')  a  gay  'Athenasum,' 
And  have,  above  all,  a  harmless  '  Museum,' 
Where  folks  who  love  plays  may  religiously  see  'em ! 

"  But  leaving  a  trifle  which  cost  me  more  trouble 
By  far  than  the  worth  of  so  flimsy  a  bubble, 
I  come  to  a  matter  which  really  claims 
The  studious  care  of  the  Devil  of  Names. 
There  's  '  Charity'  now  —  " 

But  the  lecture  was  done, 

Like  old  Goody  Morey's,  when  scarcely  begun  ; 
The  devil's  discourse  by  its  serious  teaching 
Had  set  'em  a-snoring,  like  regular  preaching! 
One  look  of  disdain  on  the  sleepers  he  threw, 
As  in  bitter  contempt  of  the  slumbering  crew, 
And  the  devil  had  vanished  without  more  ado,  — 
A  trick,  I  suspect,  that  he  seldom  plays  you  1 


YE  PEDAGOGUE. 


YE   PEDAGOGUE: 

A    BALLAD. 
I. 

"D  IGHTE  learned  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
-*-^-     Fulle  apt  to  reade  and  spelle, 
And  eke  to  teache  ye  parts  of  speeche, 
And  strap  ye  urchins  welle. 

II. 
For  as  't  is  meete  to  soake  ye  feete, 

Ye  ailinge  heade  to  mende, 
Ye  younker's  pate  to  stimulate, 

He  beats  ye  other  ende  ! 

III. 
Righte  lordlie  is  ye  Pedagogue 

As  any  turbaned  Turke  ; 
For  welle  to  rule  ye  District  Schoole, 

It  is  no  idle  worke. 

IV. 

For  oft  Rebellion  lurketh  there 

In  breaste  of  secrete  foes, 
Of  malice  fulle,  in  waite  to  pulle 

Ye  Pedagogue  his  nose  ! 

v. 
Sometimes  he  heares  with  trembling  feares, 

Of  ye  ungodlie  rogue 
On  mischieffe  bent,  with  felle  intent 

To  licke  ye  Pedagogue  ! 


YE  PEDAGOGUE. 

VI. 
And  if  ye  Pedagogue  be  smalle, 

When  to  ye  battell  led, 
In  such  a  plighte,  God  sende  him  mighte 

To  breake  ye  rogue  his  heade  ! 

VII. 

Daye  after  daye,  for  little  paye, 

He  teacheth  what  he  can, 
And  bears  ye  yoke,  to  please  ye  folke, 

And  ye  Committee-man. 

VIII. 

Ah  !  many  crosses  hath  he  borne, 

And  many  trials  founde, 
Ye  while  he  trudged  ye  district  through, 

And  boarded  rounde  and  rounde  ! 

IX. 

Ah  !  many  a  steake  hath  he  devoured, 

That,  by  ye  taste  and  sighte, 
Was  in  disdaine,  't  was  very  plaine, 

Of  Daye  his  patent  righte  ! 

x. 

Fulle  solemn  is  ye  Pedagogue, 

Amonge  ye  noisy  churls, 
Yet  other  while  he  hath  a  smile 

To  give  ye  handsome  girls  ; 

XI. 

And  one,  —  ye  fayrest  mayde  of  all,  — 

To  cheere  his  wayninge  life, 
Shall  be,  when  Springe  ye  flowers  shall  bringe, 

Ye  Pedagogue  his  wife  ! 


1 66  THE  STAMMERING    WIFE. 


THE    STAMMERING    WIFE. 


WHEN,  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Emily  Cline, 
I  vowed,  if  the  maiden  would  only  be  mine, 
I  would  always  endeavor  to  please  her,  — 
She  blushed  her  consent,  though  the  stuttering  lass 
Said  never  a  word,  except  "  You  're  an  ass  — 
An  ass  —  an  ass-iduous  teaser  !  " 

II. 

But  when  we  were  married  I  found  to  my  ruth 
The  stammering  lady  had  spoken  the  truth, 

For  often,  in  obvious  dudgeon, 
She  'd  say,  —  if  I  ventured  to  give  her  a  jog 
In  the  way  of  reproof,  —  "  You  're  a  dog  —  you  're  a 

dog  — 
A  dog  —  a  dog-matic  curmudgeon  ! " 

in. 

And  once  when  I  said,  "  We  can  hardly  afford 
This  extravagant  style,  with  our  moderate  hoard, 

And  hinted  we  ought  to  be  wiser, 
She  looked,  I  assure  you,  exceedingly  blue, 
And  fretfully  cried,  "You  're  a  ju  —  you  're  a  ju  — 

A  very  ju-dicious  adviser  !  " 

IV. 

Again,  when  it  happened  that,  wishing  to  shirk 
Some  rather  unpleasant  and  arduous  work, 

I  begged  her  to  go  to  a  neighbor, 
She  wanted  to  know  why  I  made  such  a  fuss, 
And  saucily  said,  "  You  're  a  cus  —  cus  —  cus  — 

You  were  always  ac-cus-tomed  to  labor  ! " 


A   RHYMED  EPISTLE.  167 

V. 

Out  of  temper  at  last  with  the  insolent  dame, 
And  feeling  that  Madam  was  greatly  to  blame 

To  scold  me  instead  of  caressing, 
I  mimicked  her  speech  —  like  a  churl  as  I  am  — 
And  angrily  said,  "You  're  a  dam  —  dam  —  dam  — 

A  dam-age  instead  of  a  blessing  ! " 


A   RHYMED   EPISTLE 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER   MAGAZINE. 

DEAR  KNICK  :    While  myself  and  my  spouse 
Sat  tea-ing  last  evening,  and  chatting, 
And,  mindful  of  conjugal  vows, 

Were  nicely  agreed  in  combating, 
It  chanced  that  myself  and  my  wife, 

('T  was  Madam  occasioned  the  pother !) 
Falling  suddenly  into  a  strife, 

Came  near  falling  out  with  each  other ! 

In  a  brisk,  miscellaneous  chat, 

Quite  in  tune  with  the  chime  of  the  tea-things, 
We  were  talking  of  -this  and  of  that, 

Just  as  each  of  us  happened  to  see  things, 
When  somehow  or  other  it  chanced, 

(I  don't  quite  remember  the  cue,) 
That  as  talking  and  tea-ing  advanced, 

We  found  we  were  talking  of  you  ! 

I  think  —  but  perhaps  I  am  wrong, 
Such  a  subtle  old  chap  is  Suggestion, 


!68  A   RHYMED  EPISTLE. 

As  he  forces  each  topic  along 

By  the  trick  of  the  "  previous  question  "  - 
Some  remarks  on  a  bacchanal  revel 

Suggested  that  horrible  elf 
With  the  hoof  and  the  horns,  —  and  the  Devil, 

Excuse  me,  suggested  yourself ! 

"  Ah  !  Knick,  to  be  sure  ;  by  the  way," 

Quoth  Madam,  "what  sort  of  a  man 
Do  you  take  him  to  be  !  —  nay,  but  stay, 

And  let  me  guess  him  out  if  I  can. 
He  's  young,  and  quite  handsome,  no  doubt ; 

Rather  slender,  and  not  over-tall ; 
And  he  loves  a  snug  little  turn-out, 

And  turns  out  '  quite  a  love '  at  a  ball ! " 

And  then  she  went  on  to  portray 

Such  a  very  delightful  ideal, 
That  a  sensible  stranger  would  say 

It  really  could  n't  be  real. 
"  And  his  wife,  what  a  lady  must  she  be  ? 

(KNICK 's  married,  that  /  know,  and  you  know  :) 
You  '11  find  her  a  delicate  Hebe, 

And  not  your  magnificent  Juno ! " 

Now  I  am  a  man,  you  must  learn, 

Less  famous  for  beauty  than  strength, 
And,  for  aught  I  could  ever  discern, 

Of  rather  superfluous  length. 
In  truth  't  is  but  seldom  one  meets 

Such  a  Titan  in  human  abodes, 
And  when  I  stalk  over  the  streets, 

I  'm  a  perfect  Colossus  of  roads  ! 


A   RHYMED  EPISTLE.  169 

So  I  frowned  like  a  tragedy-Roman, 

For  in  painting  the  beautiful  elf 
As  the  form  of  your  lady,  the  woman 

Took  care  to  be  drawing  herself; 
While,  mark  you,  the  picture  she  drew 

So  deuced  con  amore  and  free, 
That  fanciful  likeness  of  you, 

Was  by  no  means  a  portrait  of  me  ! 

"  How  lucky  for  ladies,"  I  hinted, 

"That  in  our  republican  land 
They  may  prattle,  without  being  stinted, 

Of  matters  they  don't  understand  ; 
I  '11  show  you,  dear  Madam,  that  '  KNICK.  ' 

Is  n't  dapper  nor  daintily  slim, 
But  a  gentleman  decently  thick, 

With  a  manly  extension  of  limb. 

"  And  as  to  his  youth,  —  talk  of  flowers 

Blooming  gayly  in  frosty  December ! 
I  '11  warrant,  his  juvenile  hours 

Are  things  he  can  scarcely  remember ! 
Here,  Madam,  quite  plain  to  be  seen, 

Is  the  chap  you  would  choose  for  a  lover ! w 
And,  producing  your  own  Magazine, 

I  pointed  elate  to  the  cover ! 

"  You  see,  ma'am,  't  is  just  as  I  said, 

His  locks  are  as  gray  as  a  rat  ; 
Here,  look  at  the  crown  of  his  head, 

'T  is  bald  as  the  crown  of  my  hat !'" 
"  Nay,  my  dear,"  interrupted  my  wife, 

Who  began  to  be  casting  about 
To  get  the  last  word  in  the  strife, 

'"T  is  his  grandfather's  picture,  no  doubt !  " 


170  TOWN  AND   COUNTRY. 


TOWN   AND    COUNTRY. 

AN    ECLOGUE. 
CLOVERTOP. 

I'VE  thought,  my  Cousin,  it 's  extremely  queer 
That  you,  who  love  to  spend  your  August  here, 
Don't  bring,  at  once,  your  wife  and  children  down, 
And  quit,  for  good,  the  noisy,  dusty  town. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

Ah  !  simple  swain,  this  sort  of  life  may  do 
For  such  a  verdant  Clovertop  as  you, 
Content  to  vegetate  in  summer  air, 
And  hibernate  in  winter  —  like  a  bear  ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  we  have  butter  pure  as  virgin  gold, 

And  milk  from  cows  that  can  a  tail  unfold 

With  bovine  pride  ;  and  new-laid  eggs,  whose  praise 

Is  sung  by  pullets  with  their  morning  lays  ; 

Trout  from  the  brook  ;  good  water  from  the  well ; 

And  other  blessings  more  than  I  can  tell ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There,  simple  rustic,  we  have  nightly  plays, 
And  operatic  music,  —  charming  ways 
Of  spending  time  and  money,  —  lots  of  fun  ; 
The  Central  Park  —  whene'er  they  get  it  done  ; 
Barnum's  Museum,  full  of  things  erratic, 
Terrene,  amphibious,  airy,  and  aquatic ! 


TO  WN  AND   CO UNTR  Y.  171 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  we  have  rosy,  radiant,  romping  girls, 
With  lips  of  rubies,  and. with  teeth  of  pearls  ; 
I  dare  not  mention  half  their  witching  charms  ; 
But,  ah  !  the  roundness  of  their  milky  arms, 
And,  oh  !  what  polished  shoulders  they  display, 
Bending  o'er  tubs  upon  a  washing-day  ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

TJicre  we  have  ladies  most  superbly  made 

(By  fine  artistes,  who  understand  their  trade), 

Who  dance  the  German,  flirt  a  graceful  fan, 

And  speak  such  French  as  no  Parisian  can  ; 

Who  sing  much  louder  than  your  country  thrushes, 

And  wear  (thank  Phalon  !)  far  more  brilliant  blushes  ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here,  boastful  Shilling,  we  have  flowery  walks, 
Where  you  may  stroll,  and  hold  delightful  talks, 
(No  saucy  placard  frowning  as  you  pass, 
"  Ten  dollars'  fine  for  walking  on  the  grass  !  ") 
Dim-lighted  groves,  where  love's  delicious  words 
Are  breathed  to  music  of  melodious  birds. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There,  silly  Clover,  dashing  belles  we  meet, 
Sweeping  with  silken  robes  the  dusty  street ; 
May  gaze  into  their  faces  as  they  pass, 
Beneath  the  rays  of  dimly  burning  gas, 
Or,  standing  at  a  crossing  when  it  rains, 
May  see  some  pretty  ankles  for  our  pains. 


172 


TOWN  AND   COUNTRY. 


CLOVERTOP. 


Here  you  may  angle  for  the  speckled  trout, 
Play  him  awhile,  with  gentle  hand,  about, 
Then,  like  a  sportsman,  pull  the  fellow  out ! 


SHILLINGSIDE. 


There,  too,  is  fishing  quite  as  good,  I  ween, 
Where  careless,  gaping  gudgeons  oft  are  seen, 
Rich  as  yon  pasture,  and  almost  as  green  ! 


CLOVERTOP. 

Here  you  may  see  the  meadow's  grassy  plain, 
Ripe,  luscious  fruits,  and  shocks  of  golden  grain ; 
And  view,  luxuriant  in  a  hundred  fields, 
The  gorgeous  wealth  that  bounteous  Nature  yields  ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There  you  may  see  Trade's  wondrous   strength  and 

pride, 

Where  merchant-navies  throng  on  every  side, 
And  view,  collected  in  Columbia's  mart, 
Alike  the  wealth  of  Nature  and  of  Art ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Cease,  clamorous  cit !   I  love  these  quiet  nooks, 
Where  one  may  sleep,  or  dawdle  over  books, 
Or,  if  he  wish  of  gentle  love  to  dream, 
May  sit  and  muse  by  yonder  babbling  stream  — 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

Dry  up  your  babbling  stream  !  my  Clovertop  — 
You  're  getting  garrulous  ;  it  's  time  to  stop. 


THE  FAMILY  MAN. 

I  love  the  city,  and  the  city's  smoke  ; 
The  smell  of  gas  ;  the  dust  of  coal  and  coke  ; 
The  sound  of  bells  ;  the  tramp  of  hurrying  feet ; 
The  sight  of  pigs  and  Paphians  in  the  street ; 
The  jostling  crowd  ;  the  never-ceasing  noise 
Of  rattling  coaches,  and  vociferous  boys  ; 
The  cry  of  "  Fire  !  "  and  the  exciting  scene 
Of  heroes  running  with  their  mad  "mersheen  "  ; 
Nay,  now  I  think  that  I  could  even  stand 
The  direful  din  of  Barnum's  brazen  band, 
So  much  I  long  to  see  the  town  again  ! 
Good  by  !  I  'm  going  by  the  evening  train  ! 
Don't  fail  to  call  whene'er  you  come  to  town, 
We  '11  do  the  city,  boy,  and  do  it  brown  ; 
I  Ve  really  had  a  pleasant  visit  here, 
And  mean  to  come  again  another  year. 


THE    FAMILY    MAN. 

T    ONCE  was  a  jolly  young  beau, 
-*-     And  knew  how  to  pick  up  a  fan, 
But  I  Ve  done  with  all  that,  you  must  know, 
For  now  I  'm  a  family  man ! 

When  a  partner  I  ventured  to  take, 
The  ladies  all  favored  the  plan  ; 

They  vowed  I  was  certain  to  make 
"  Such  an  excellent  family  man  ! " 

If  I  travel  by  land  or  by  water, 

I  have  charge  of  some  Susan  or  Ann  ; 

Mrs.  Brown  is  so  sure  that  her  daughter 
Is  safe  with  a  family  man  ! 


173 


THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS. 

The  trunks  and  the  bandboxes  round  'em 
With  something  like  horror  I  scan, 

But  though  I  may  mutter,  "  Confound  'em!" 
I  smile  —  like  a  family  man ! 

I  once  was  as  gay  as  a  templar, 

But  levity 's  now  under  ban  ; 
Young  people  must  have  an  exemplar, 

And  I  am  a  family  man ! 

The  club-men  I  meet  in  the  city 
All  treat  me  as  well  as  they  can  ; 

And  only  exclaim,  "What  a  pity 
Poor  Tom  is  a  family  man ! " 

I  own  I  am  getting  quite  pensive  ; 

Ten  children,  from  David  to  Dan, 
Is  a  family  rather  extensive  ; 

But  then  —  I  'm  a  family  man! 


THE    SNAKE    IN    THE    GLASS. 

A     HOMILY. 

COME  listen  awhile  to  me,  my  lad ; 
Come  listen  to  me  for  a  spell ; 
Let  that  terrible  drum 
For  a  moment  be  dumb, 
For  your  uncle  is  going  to  tell 

What  befell 
A  youth  who  loved  liquor  too  well. 


THE  SNAKE  IN  THE   GLASS.  175 

A  clever  young  man  was  he,  my  lad  ; 
And  with  beauty  uncommonly  blest, 

Ere,  with  brandy  and  wine, 

He  began  to  decline, 
And  behaved  like  a  person  possessed ; 

I  protest 
The  temperance  plan  is  the  best. 

One  evening  he  went  to  a  tavern,  my  lad ; 
He  went  to  a  tavern  one  night, 

And  drinking  too  much 

Rum,  brandy,  and  such, 
The  chap  got  exceedingly  "  tight "  ; 

And  was  quite 
What  your  aunt  would  entitle  a  fright 

The  fellow  fell  into  a  snooze,  my  lad ; 
'T  is  a  horrible  slumber  he  takes  ; 

He  trembles  with  fear, 

And  acts  very  queer  ; 
My  eyes !  how  he  shivers  and  shakes 

When  he  wakes, 
And  raves  about  horrid  great  snakes  ! 

'T  is  a  warning  to  you  and  to  me,  my  lad  ; 
A  particular  caution  to  all,  — 

Though  no  one  can  see 

The  vipers  but  he,  — 
To  hear  the  poor  lunatic  bawl :  — 

"  How  they  crawl !  — 
All  over  the  floor  and  the  wall ! " 

Next  morning  he  took  to  his  bed,  my  lad ; 
Next  morning  he  took  to  his  bed ; 


1 76     THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS. 

And  he  never  got  up 

To  dine  or  to  sup, 
Though  properly  physicked  and  bled  ; 

And  I  read, 
Next  day,  the  poor  fellow  was  dead ! 

You  Ve  heard  of  the  snake  in  the  grass,  my  lad  j 
Of  the  viper  concealed  in  the  grass ; 

But  now,  you  must  know, 

Man's  deadliest  foe 
Is  a  snake  of  a  different  class  ; 

Alas!- 
'T  is  the  viper  that  lurks  in  the  glass ! 

A  warning  to  you  and  to  me,  my  lad  ; 
A  very  imperative  call :  — 

Of  liquor  keep  clear  ; 

Don't  drink  even  beer, 
If  you  'd  shun  all  occasion  to  fall ; 

If  at  all, 
Pray  take  it  uncommonly  small. 

And  if  you  are  partial  to  snakes,  my  lad 
(A  passion  I  think  rather  low), 

Don't  enter,  to  see  'em, 

The  Devil's  Museum  !  — 
'T  is  very  much  better  to  go 
(That 's  so !) 
And  visit  a  regular  show ! 


NE   CREDE  CO  LOR  I. 
NE     CREDE     COLORI: 

OR,    TRUST    NOT    TO    APPEARANCES. 

HP  HE  musty  old  maxim  is  wise, 
-*-       Although  with  antiquity  hoary ; 
What  an  excellent  homily  lies 
In  the  motto,  Ne  crede  color i ! 

A  blustering  minion  of  Mars 
Is  vaunting  his  battles  so  gory; 

You  see  some  equivocal  scars, 
And  mutter,  Ne  crede  colori  ! 

A  fellow  solicits  your  tin 

By  telling  a  runaway  story ; 
You  look  at  his  ebony  skin, 

And  think  of,  Ne  crede  colori! 

You  gaze  upon  beauty  that  vies 
With  the  rose  and  the  lily  in  glory, 

But  certain  "  inscrutable  dyes  " 
Remind  you,  Ne  crede  colori  ! 

There  's  possibly  health  in  the  flush 

That  rivals  the  red  of  Aurora  ; 
But  brandy-and-water  can  blush, 

And  whisper,  Ne  crede  colori  / 

My  story  is  presently  done, 

Like  the  ballad  of  good  Mother  Morey  ; 
But  all  imposition  to  shun, 

Remember,  Ne  crede  colori! 

8*  L 


177 


178  CLARA    TO   CLOE. 

CLARA  TO    CLOE. 

AN   EPISTLE  FROM  A  CITY  LADY  TO  A  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 

DEAR  CLOE  :  —  I  'm  deeply  your  debtor 
(Though  the  mail  was  uncommonly  slow) 
For  the  very  agreeable  letter 

You  wrote  me  a  fortnight  ago. 
I  know  you  are  eagerly  waiting 

For  all  that  I  promised  to  write, 
But  my  pen  is  unequal  to  stating 
One  half  that  my  heart  would  indite. 

The  weather  is  terribly  torrid  ; 

And  writing  's  a  serious  task ; 
The  new  style  of  bonnet  is  horrid  ; 

And  so  is  the  new-fashioned  basque; 
The  former  —  but  language  would  fail 

Were  its  epithets  doubly  as  strong  — 
The  latter  is  worn  with  a  tail 

Very  ugly  and  tediously  long  ! 

And  then  as  to  crinoline  —  Gracious  ! 

If  you  only  could  see  Cousin  Ruth  — 
The  pictures,  for  once,  are  veracious, 

And  editors  utter  the  truth  ! 
I  know  you  will  think  it  a  pity  ; 

And  every  one  makes  such  a  sneer  of  it ; 
But  there  is  n't  a  saint  in  the  city 

Whose  skirts  are  entirely  clear  of  it ! 

And  then  what  a  fortune  of  stuff 
To  cover  the  skeleton  over  !  — 


CLARA    TO   CLOE.  179 

Charles  says  the  idea  is  enough 

To  frighten  a  sensible  lover ; 
And,  pretending  that  we  are  to  blame 

For  every  financial  declension, 
Swears  husbands  must  soon  do  the  same, 

If  wives  have  another  "  extension  "  ! 

The  town  is  exceedingly  dull, 

And  so  is  the  latest  new  farce  ; 
The  parks  are  uncommonly  full, 

But  beaux  are  deplorably  scarce ; 
They  're  gone  to  the  "  Springs  "  and  the  "  Falls," 

To  exhibit  their  greyhounds  and  graces, 
And  recruit  at  —  what  Frederick  calls  — 

The  Brandy-and- Watering  Places  ! 

Since  my  former  epistle,  which  carried 

The  news  of  that  curious  plot,  — 
Of  Miss  S.  who  ran  off —  and  was  married  ; 

Of  Miss  B.  who  ran  off — and  was  not, — 
There  is  n't  a  whisper  of  scandal 

To  keep  gentle  ladies  in  humor, 
And  Gossip,  the  pleasant  old  vandal, 

Is  dying  for  want  of  a  rumor ! 

CLARA. 

P.  S.  —  But  was  n't  it  funny  ?  — 

Mrs.  Jones,  at  a  party  last  week, 
(The  lady  so  proud  of  her  money, 

Of  whom  you  have  oft  heard  me  speak,) 
Appeared  so  delightfully  stupid, 

When  she  spoke,  through  the  squeak  of  her  phthisic, 
Of  the  statue  of  Psyche  and  Cupid 

As  "  the  statute  of  Cuppid  and  Physic  "  /    C. 


!8o  CLOE    TO   CLARA. 

CLOE   TO   CLARA. 

A  SARATOGA  LETTER. 

~p\EAR  CLARA  :  —  I  wish  you  were  here : 
*-*     The  prettiest  spot  upon  earth  ! 
With  everything  charming,  my  dear,  — 

Beaux,  badinage,  music,  and  mirth  ! 
Such  rows  of  magnificent  trees, 

Overhanging  such  beautiful  walks, 
Where  lovers  may  stroll,  if  they  please, 

And  indulge  in  the  sweetest  of  talks  ! 

We  go  every  morning,  like  geese, 

To  drink  at  the  favorite  Spring ; 
Six  tumblers  of  water  apiece 

Is  simply  the  regular  thing ; 
For  such  is  its  wonderful  virtue, 

Though  rather  unpleasant  at  first, 
No  quantity  ever  can  hurt  you, 

Unless  you  should  happen  to  burst ! 

And  then,  what  a  gossiping  sight ! 

What  talk  about  William  and  Harry  ; 
How  Julia  was  spending  last  night ; 

And  why  Miss  Morton  should  marry  ! 
Dear  Clara,  I  Ve  happened  to  see 

Full  many  a  tea-table  slaughter ; 
But,  really,  scandal  with  tea 

Is  nothing  to  scandal  with  water  ! 

Apropos  of  the  Spring  —  have  you  heard 
The  quiz  of  a  gentleman  here 


CLOE    TO   CLARA.  181 

On  a  pompous  M.  C.  who  averred 

That  the  name  was  remarkably  queer  ? 

"  The  Spring  —  to  keep  it  from  failing  — 
With  wood  is  encompassed  about, 

And  derives,  from  its  permanent  railing, 
The  title  of  '  Congress,'  no  doubt ! " 

'T  is  pleasant  to  guess  at  the  reason, 

The  genuine  motive,  which  brings 
Such  all-sorts  of  folks,  in  the  season, 

To  stop  a  few  days  at  the  Springs. 
Some  come  to  partake  of  the  waters 

(The  sensible,  old-fashioned  elves) ; 
Some  come  to  dispose  of  their  daughters, 

And  some  to  dispose  of  —  themselves  ! 

Some  come  to  exhibit  their  faces 

To  new  and  admiring  beholders  ; 
Some  come  to  exhibit  their  graces, 

And  some  to  exhibit  their  shoulders  ; 
Some  come  to  make  people  stare 

At  the  elegant  dresses  they  Ve  got ; 
Some  to  show  what  a  lady  may  wear, 

And  some  —  what  a  lady  should  not ! 

Some  come  to  squander  their  treasure, 

And  some  their  funds  to  improve  ; 
And  some  for  mere  love  of  pleasure, 

And  some  for  the  pleasure  of  love ; 
And  some  to  escape  from  the  old, 

And  some  to  see  what  is  new  ; 
But  most  —  it  is  plain  to  be  told  — 

Come  here  —  because  other  folks  do! 


182  THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN. 

And  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason 

Why  /  am  enjoying,  to-day, 
What  's  called  "  the  height  —  of  the  season  " 

In  rather  the  loftiest  way. 
Good  by  —  for  now  I  must  stop  — 

To  Charley's  command  I  resign,  — 
So  I  'm  his  for  the  regular  hop, 

But  ever  most  tenderly  thine, 

CLOE. 


THE    GREAT    MAGICIAN. 

ONCE,  when  a  lad,  it  was  my  hap 
To  gain  my  mother's  kind  permission 
To  go  and  see  a  foreign  chap 

Who  called  himself  "The  Great  Magician"; 
I  recollect  his  wondrous  skill 

In  divers  mystic  conjurations, 
And  how  the  fellow  wrought  at  will 
The  most  prodigious  transformations. 

I  recollect  the  nervous  man 

Within  whose  hat  the  great  deceiver 
Broke  eggs,  as  in  a  frying-pan, 

And  took  'em  smoking  from  the  beaver ! 
I  recollect  the  lady's  shawl 

Which  the  magician  rent  asunder, 
And  then  restored ;  but,  best  of  all, 

I  recollect  the  Ribbon- Wonder ! 

I  mean,  of  course,  the  funny  freak 
In  which  the  wizard,  at  his  pleasure, 


THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN.  1 

Spins  lots  of  ribbons  from  his  cheek 
(Where  he  had  hid  'em,  at  his  leisure). 

Yard  after  yard,  of  every  hue, 
Comes  blazing  out,  and  still  the  fellow 

Keeps  spinning  ribbons,  red  and  blue, 
And  black,  and  white,  and  green,  and  yellow  ! 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 

To  rank  with  the  immortal  "Potter's"  ;s 
He 's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 

And  others  charm  our  sons  and  daughters  ; 
Years  —  years  have  fled  —  alas  !  how  quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magician, 
And  yet  I  've  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 

In  many  a  curious  repetition  ! 

Thus,  when  an  author  I  have  read 

Who  much  amazed  the  world  of  letters 
With  gems  his  fluent  pen  has  shed, 

(All  nicely  pilfered  from  his  betters,) 
Presto  !  —  't  is  done  !  —  and  all  complete, 

As  in  my  youth's  enraptured  vision, 
I  've  seen  again  the  Ribbon-Feat, 

And  thought  about  the  Great  Magician  ! 

So,  when  a  sermon  I  have  heard 

Made  up  of  bits  of  borrowed  learning, 
Some  cheap  mosaic  which  has  stirred 

The  wonder  of  the  undiscerning,  — 
Swift  as  a  flash  has  memory  then 

Recalled  the  ancient  exhibition  ; 
I  saw  the  Ribbon-Trick  again, 

And  thought  about  the  Great  Magician  ! 


THE  BLARNEY  STONE. 

So  when  some  flippant  man-o'-jokes, 

Though  in  himself  no  dunce  was  duller, 
Has  dazzled  all  the  simple  folks 

With  brilliant  jests  of  every  color,  — 
I  Ve  whispered  thus  (while  fast  and  thick 

The  changes  flashed  across  my  vision) :  — 
"  How  well  he  plays  the  Ribbon-Trick  ! 

By  Jove  !  —  he  beats  the  Great  Magician ! " 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 

To  rank  with  the  immortal  "  Potter's"  ; 
He 's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 

And  others  charm  our  sons  and  daughters  ; 
Years  —  years  have  fled  —  alas  !  how  quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magician, 
And  yet  I  Ve  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 

In  many  a  curious  repetition  ! 


THE    BLARNEY    STONE. 

I. 

T  N  Blarney  Castle,  on  a  crumbling  tower, 
-*•     There  lies  a  stone  (above  your  ready  reach), 
Which  to  the  lips  imparts,  't  is  said,  the  power 
Of  facile  falsehood,  and  persuasive  speech  ; 
And  hence,  of  one  who  talks  in  such  a  tone, 
The  peasants  say,  "  He 's  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  ! " 

II. 
Thus,  when  I  see  some  flippant  tourist  swell 

With  secrets  wrested  from  an  Emperor,  — - 
And  hear  him  vaunt  his  bravery,  and  tell 

How  once  he  snubbed  a  Marquis,  —  I  infer 


THE  BLARNEY  STONE.  185 

The  man  came  back  —  if  but  the  truth  were  known  — 
By  way  of  Cork,  and  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone ! 

ill. 
So,  when  I  hear  a  shallow  dandy  boast 

(In  the  long  ear  that  marks  a  brother  dunce) 
What  precious  favors  ladies'  lips  have  lost, 

To  his  advantage  ;  I  suspect,  at  once, 
The  fellow 's  lying  ;  that  the  dog  alone 
(Enough  for  him  !)  has  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  ! 

IV. 

When  some  fine  lady,  —  ready  to  defame 
An  absent  beauty,  with  as  sweet  a  grace,  — 

With  seeming  rapture  greets  a  hated  name, 
And  lauds  her  rival  to  her  wondering  face  ; 

E'en  Charity  herself  must  freely  own 

Some  women,  too,  have  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  ! 

v. 
When  sleek  attorneys,  whose  seductive  tongues, 

Smooth  with  the  unction  of  a  golden  fee, 
"Breathe  forth  huge  falsehoods  from  capacious  lungs,"* 

(The  words  are  Juvenal's)  't  is  plain  to  see 
A  lawyer's  genius  is  n't  all  his  own  ; 
The  specious  rogue  has  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  ! 

VI. 

When  the  false  pastor,  from  his  fainting  flock 

Withholds  the  Bread  of  Life  —  the  Gospel  news  — 

To  give  them  dainty  words,  lest  he  should  shock 
The  fragile  fabric  of  the  paying  pews,  — 

Who  but  must  feel,  the  man,  to  Grace  unknown, 

Has  kissed,  —  not  Calvary,  —  but  the  Blarney  Stone  ! 

*  "Immensa  cavi  spirant  raendacia  folles." 


186       ODE   TO    THE  PRINCE   OF  WALES. 

X 

ODE   TO   THE   PRINCE   OF   WALES. 

INVITING  HIS   ROYAL   HIGHNESS  TO  A  COUNTRY  COTTAGE. 


o 


PRINCE  of  Wales! 

Unless  my  judgment  fails, 
You  've  found  your  recent  travel  rather  dreary  ; 
I  don't  expect  an  answer  to  the  query,  — 

But  are  n't  you  getting  weary  ? 
Weary  of  Bells,  and  Balls,  and  grand  Addresses  ? 
Weary  of  Military  and  their  messes  ? 
Weary  of  adulation  and  caresses  ? 
Weary  of  shouts  from  the  admiring  masses  ? 
Weary  of  worship  from  the  upper  classes  ? 
Weary  of  horses,  may'rs,  and  asses  ? 
Of  course  't  was  kindly  meant,  — 
But  don't  you  now  repent 
Your  good  Mamma's  consent 
That  you  should  be, 
This  side  the  sea, 

The  "  British  Lion  "  which  you  represent  ? 
Pray  leave  your  city  courtiers  and  their  capers, 
And  come  to  us  :  we  've  no  pictorial  papers  ; 
And  no  Reporters  to  distort  your  nose  ; 
Or  mark  the  awkward  carriage  of  your  toes  ; 
Your  style  of  sneezing,  and  such  things  as  those  ; 
Or,  meaner  still,  in  democratic  spite, 
Measure  your  Royal  Highness  by  your  height ! 

Then  come  to  us  ! 

We  're  not  the  sort  of  folk  to  make  a  fuss, 
E'en  for  the  PRESIDENT, —  but  then,  my  boy, 


NIL  ADMIRARI.  187 

We  plumply  promise  you  a  special  joy, 

To  Princes  rarely  known, 
(And  one  you  '11  never  find  about  a  throne,) 
To  wit,  the  bliss  of  being  let  alone  ! 
No  scientific  bores  from  Athenaeums  ; 
No  noisy  guns,  nor  tedious  te-deums, 
Shall  vex  your  Royal  Highness  for  a  minute  ; 
A  glass  of  lemonade,  with  "  something  in  it," 
A  fragrant  meerschaum,  with  the  morning  news, 
Or  sweet  Virginia  "fine-cut,"  —  if  you  choose,  — 
These,  and  what  else  your  Highness  may  demand 
Of  simple  luxury,  shall  be  at  hand, 
And  at  your  royal  service.     Come  ! 
O  come  where  you  may  gain 
(What  advertisers  oft  have  sought  in  vain) 

"  The  comforts  of  a  home  "  ! 
Come,  Prince  of  Wales  !  —  we  greatly  need 
Your  royal  presence,  Sir,  —  we  do  indeed  : 
For  why  ?  —  we  have  a  pretty  hamlet  here, 
But  then,  you  see,  't  is  equally  as  clear 
(Your  Highness  understands  Shakespearian  hints) 
A  Hamlet  is  n't  much  without  a  Prince  ! 


NIL   ADMIRARI. 


"\  T  7HEN  Horace  in  Vendusian  groves 

*  V     Was  scribbling  wit  or  sipping  "  Massic," 
Or  singing  those  delicious  loves 

Which  after  ages  reckon  classic, 
He  wrote  one  day  —  't  was  no  vagary  — 
These  famous  words  :  — Nil  admirari! 


1 88  NIL  ADM1RARL 

II. 

"  Wonder  at  nothing  !  "  said  the  bard  ; 

A  kingdom's  fall,  a  nation's  rising, 
A  lucky  or  a  losing  card, 

Are  really  not  at  all  surprising ; 
However  men  or  manners  vary, 
Keep  cool  and  calm  ;  Nil  admirari  ! 

in. 

If  kindness  meet  a  cold  return  ; 

If  friendship  prove  a  dear  delusion  ; 
If  love,  neglected,  cease  to  burn, 

Or  die  untimely  of  profusion,  — 
Such  lessons  well  may  make  us  wary, 
But  need  n't  shock  ;  Nil  admirari! 


IV. 

Does  disappointment  follow  gain  ? 

Or  wealth  elude  the  keen  pursuer  ? 
Does  pleasure  end  in  poignant  pain? 

Does  fame  disgust  the  lucky  wooer, 
Or  haply  prove  perversely  chary  ? 
'T  was  ever  thus  ;  Nil  admirari! 


v. 

Does  January  wed  with  May, 
Or  ugliness  consort  with  beauty  ? 

Does  Piety  forget  to  pray  ? 

And,  heedless  of  connubial  duty, 

Leave  faithful  Ann  for  wanton  Mary  ? 

'T  is  the  old  tale  ;  Nil  admirari  ! 


THE   COQUETTE. 

VI. 

Ah  !  when  the  happy  day  we  reach 
When  promisers  are  ne'er  deceivers  ; 

When  parsons  practise  what  they  preach, 
And  seeming  saints  are  all  believers, 

Then  the  old  maxim  you  may  vary, 

And  say  no  more,  Nil  admirari ! 


THE    COQUETTE. 

A     PORTRAIT. 

"\7O\J  're  clever  at  drawing,  I  own," 

Said  my  beautiful  cousin  Lisette, 
As  we  sat  by  the  window  alone, 

"  But  say,  can  you  paint  a  Coquette  ?  " 

"  She  's  painted  already,"  quoth  I ; 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  said  the  laughing  Lisette, 
"Now  none  of  your  joking,  —  but  try 

And  paint  me  a  thorough  Coquette." 

"Well,  cousin,"  at  once  I  began 
In  the  ear  of  the  eager  Lisette, 

"  I  '11  paint  you  as  well  as  I  can 
That  wonderful  thing,  a  Coquette. 

"  She  wears  a  most  beautiful  face," 

("  Of  course  !  "  —  said  the  pretty  Lisette,) 

"  And  is  n't  deficient  in  grace, 
Or  else  she  were  not  a  Coquette. 


1 9o  THE   COQUETTE. 

"  And  then  she  is  daintily  made  " 
(A  smile  from  the  dainty  Lisette) 

"  By  people  expert  in  the  trade 
Of  forming  a  proper  Coquette. 

"  She 's  the  winningest  ways  with  the  beaux," 
("  Go  on  !"  —  said  the  winning  Lisette,) 

"  But  there  is  n't  a  man  of  them  knows 
The  mind  of  the  fickle  Coquette  ! 

"  She  knows  how  to  weep  and  to  sigh," 
(A  sigh  from  the  tender  Lisette,) 

"  But  her  weeping  is  a'l  in  my  eye,  — 
Not  that  of  the  cunning  Coquette  ! 

"  In  short,  she  's  a  creature  of  art," 

("  O  hush  ! "  —  said  the  frowning  Lisette,) 

"  With  merely  the  ghost  of  a  heart,  — 
Enough  for  a  thorough  Coquette. 

"  And  yet  I  could  easily  prove 

("  Now  don't ! " —  said  the  angry  Lisette,) 
"  The  lady  is  always  in  love,  — 

In  love  with  herself,  —  the  Coquette  ! 

"  There,  —  do  not  be  angry  !  —  you  know, 

.  My  dear  little  cousin  Lisette, 
You  told  me  a  moment  ago 

To  paint  you  —  a  thorough  Coquette  !  " 


CARMEN  L^ETUM.  19 1 


CARMEN    L^TUM: 

RECITED,  AFTER  DINNER,  BEFORE  THE  ALUMNI  OF  MIDDLE- 
BURY  COLLEGE,  AT  THEIR  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  CELEBRA- 
TION, AUGUST  22,  1850. 

A    RIGHT  loving  welcome,  my  true-hearted  Brothers, 
**•  Who  have  come  out  to  visit  the  kindest  of  mothers ; 
You  may  think  as  you  will,  but  there  is  n't  a  doubt 
Alma  Mater  rejoices,  and  knows  you  are  out ! 
Rejoices  to  see  you  in  gratitude  here, 
Returning  to  honor  her  fiftieth  year. 
And  while  the  good  lady  is  so  overcome 
With  maternal  emotion,  she 's  stricken  quite  dumb, 
(A  thing,  I  must  own,  that  's  enough  to  perplex 
A  shallow  observer,  who  thinks  that  the  sex, 
Whatever  may  be  their  internal  revealings, 
Can  never  be  pained  with  unspeakable  feelings,) 
Indulge  me,  dear  Brothers,  nor  think  me  ill-bred, 
If  I  venture  a  moment  to  speak  in  her  stead. 
I,  who,  though  the  humblest  and  homeliest  one, 
Feel  the  natural  pride  of  a  dutiful  son, 
And  esteem  it  to-day  the  profoundest  of  joys, 
That,  not  less  than  yourselves,  I  am  one  of  the  boys  ! 

First  as  to  her  health,  which,  I  'm  sorry  to  say, 
Has  been  better,  no  doubt,  than  she  finds  it  to-day  ; 
Yet  when  you  reflect  she  's  been  somewhat  neglected, 
She  's  really  as  well  as  could  well  be  expected  ; 
And,  spite  of  ill-treatment  and  premature  fears, 
Is  a  hearty  old  lady,  for  one  of  her  years. 
Indeed,  I  must  tell  you  a  bit  of  a  tale, 
To  show  you  she  's  feeling  remarkably  hale  ; 


192 


CARMEN  LJETUM. 


How  she  turned  up  her  nose,  but  a  short  time  ago, 
At  a  rather  good-looking  importunate  beau, 
And  how  she  refused,  with  a  princess-like  carriage 
"  A  very  respectable  offer  of  marriage."  * 

You  see,  my  dear  Brothers,  a  neighboring  College 
Who  values  himself  on  the  depth  of  his  knowledge, 
With  a  prayer  for  her  love,  and  an  eye  to  her  land, 
Walked  up  to  the  lady  and  offered  his  hand. 
For  a  minute  or  so  she  was  all  in  a  flutter, 
And  had  not  a  word  she  could  audibly  utter  ; 
For  she  felt  in  her  bosom,  beyond  all  concealing, 
A  kind  of  a  —  sort  of  a  —  widow-like  feeling ! 
But  recovering  soon  from  the  delicate  shock, 
She  held  up  her  head  like  an  old-fashioned  clock, 
And,  with  proper  composure,  went  on  and  defined, 
In  suitable  phrases,  the  state  of  her  mind  ; 
Said  she  would  n't  mind  changing  her  single  condition, 
Could  she  fairly  expect  to  improve  her  position  ; 
And  thus,  by  some  words  of  equivocal  scope, 
Gave  her  lover  decided  "  permission  to  hope." 
It  were  idle  to  talk  of  the  billing  and  cooing 
The  amorous  gentleman  used  in  his  wooing  ; 
Or  how  she  replied  to  his  pressing  advances, 
His  ocular  touches  and  ocular  glances  ;  — 
'T  is  enough  that  his  courtship,  by  all  that  is  known, 
Was  quite  the  old  story,  and  much  like  your  own  ! 

Thus  the  matter  went  on,  till  the  lady  found  out, 
One  very  fine  day,  what  the  rogue  was  about,  — 
That  all  that  he  wanted  was  merely  the  power 

*  Allusion  is  had,  in  this  and  subsequent  lines,  to  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  unite  Middlebury  College  with  the  University  of  Vermont.  The 
affair  is  here  treated  with  the  license  of  a  dinner  poem,  and  with  the  par- 
tiality permitted  to  the  occasion. 


CARMEN  L&TUM. 


193 


By  marital  license  to  pocket  her  dower, 

And  then  to  discard  her  in  sorrow  and  shame, 

Bereaved  of  her  home  and  her  name  and  her  fame. 

In  deep  indignation  she  turned  on  her  heel, 

With  such  withering  scorn  as  a  lady  might  feel 

For  a  knave,  who,  in  stealing  her  miniature  case, 

Should  take  the  gold  setting,  and  leave  her  the  face ! 

But  soon  growing  calm  as  the  breast  of  the  deep, 

When  the  breezes  are  hushed  that  the  waters  may  sleep, 

She  sat  in  her  chair,  like  a  dignified  elf, 

And  thus,  while  I  listened,  she  talked  to  herself:  — 

"  Nay,  't  was  idle  to  think  of  so  foolish  a  plan 

As  a  match  with  this  pert  University-man, 

For  I  have  n't  a  chick  but  would  redden  with  shame 

At  the  very  idea  of  my  losing  my  name  ; 

And  would  feel  that  no  sorrow  so  heavy  could  come 

To  his  mother  as  losing  her  excellent  home. 

'T  is  true  I  am  weak,  but  my  children  are  strong, 

And  won't  see  me  suffer  privation  or  wrong ; 

So,  away  with  the  dream  of  connubial  joys, 

I  '11  stick  to  the  homestead,  and  look  to  the  boys  ! " 

How  joyous,  my  friends,  is  the  cordial  greeting 
Which  gladdens  the  heart  at  a  family  meeting ; 
When  brothers  assemble  at  Friendship's  old  shrine 
To  look  at  the  present,  and  talk  of  "  Lang  Syne" ! 
Ah  !  well  I  remember  the  halcyon  years, 
Too  earnest  for  laughter,  too  pleasant  for  tears, 
When  life  was  a  boon  in  yon  classical  court, 
Though  lessons  were  long,  and  though  commons  were 

short ! 

Ah !  well  I  remember  those  excellent  men, 
Professors  and  tutors,  who  reigned  o'er  us  then  ; 
Who  guided  our  feet  over  Science's  bogs, 

9  M 


I94  CARMEN  L^ETUM. 

And  led  us  quite  safe  through  Philosophy's  fogs. 
Ah!  well  I  remember  the  President's*  face, 
As  he  sat  at  the  lecture  with  dignified  grace, 
And  neatly  unfolded  the  mystical  themes 
Of  various  deep  metaphysical  schemes,  — 
How  he  brightened  the  path  of  his  studious  flock, 
As  he  gave  them  a  key  to  that  wonderful  Locke; 
How  he  taught  us  to  feel  it  was  fatal  indeed 
With  too  much  reliance  to  lean  upon  Reid; 
That  Stewart  was  sounder,  but  wrong  at  the  last, 
From  following  his  master  a  little  too  fast,  — 
Then  closed  the  discourse  in  a  scholarly  tone, 
With  a  clear  and  intelligent  creed  of  his  own. 
That  the  man  had  his  faults  it  were  safe  to  infer,  — 
Though  I  really  don't  recollect  what  they  were,  — 
I  barely  remember  this  one  little  truth, 
When  his  case  was  discussed  by  the  critical  youth, 
The  Seniors  and  Freshmen  were  sure  to  divide, 
And  the  former  were  all  on  the  President's  side  ! 

And  well  I  remember  another,  whose  praise 
Were  a  suitable  theme  for  more  elegant  lays ; 
But  even  in  numbers  ungainly  and  rough, 
I  must  mention  the  name  of  our  glorious  HOUGH  ! 
Who  does  not  remember  ?  for  who  can  forget, 
Till  Memory's  star  shall  forever  have  set, 
How  he  sat  in  his  place  unaffected  and  bold, 
And  taught  us  more  truths  than  the  lesson  had  told  ? 
Gave  a  lift  to  "  Old  NOL,"  for  the  love  of  the  right, 
And  a  slap  at  the  Stuarts,  with  cordial  spite  ; 
And,  quite  in  the  teeth  of  conventional  rules, 
Hurled  his  adjectives  down  upon  tyrants  and  fools  ? 
But,  chief,  he  excelled  in  his  proper  vocation 

*  Joshua  Bates,  D.  D. 


MY  BOYHOOD.  195 

Of  giving  the  classics  a  classic  translation ; 
In  Latin  and  Greek  he  was  almost  oracular, 
And,  what 's  more  to  his  praise,  understood  the  vernac- 
ular. 

O,  't  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  make  English  of  Greek, 
Till  you  felt  that  no  tongue  was  inherently  weak  ; 
While  Horace  in  Latin  seemed  quite  understated, 
And  rejoiced  like  old  Enoch  in  being  translated  ! 

And  others  there  were  —  but  the  hour  would  fail, 
To  bring  them  all  up  in  historic  detail  ; 
And  yet  I  would  give,  ere  the  moment  has  fled, 
A  sigh  for  the  absent,  a  tear  for  the  dead. 
There 's  not  one  of  them  all,  where'er  he  may  rove, 
In  the  shadows  of  earth,  or  the  glories  above, 
In  the  home  of  his  birth,  or  in  lands  far  away, 
But  comes  back  to  be  kindly  remembered  to-day  ! 

One  little  word  more,  and  my  duty  is  done  ;  — 
A  health  to  our  Mother,  from  each  mother's  son  ! 
Unfading  in  beauty,  increasing  in  strength, 
May  she  flourish  in  health  through  the  century's  length ; 
And  next  when  her  children  come  round  her  to  boast, 
May  Esto  perpetua  then  be  the  toast ! 


MY    BOYHOOD. 

AH  me !  those  joyous  days  are  gone ! 
I  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 
How  fleeting  were  the  hours  ! 
For,  lest  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 
And  hides  his  face  in  flowers  ! 


I96  MY  BOYHOOD. 

Ah !  well  I  mind  me  of  the  days, 

Still  bright  in  memory's  flattering  rays, 

When  all  was  fair  and  new  ; 
When  knaves  were  only  found  in  books, 
And  friends  were  known  by  friendly  looks, 

And  love  was  always  true  ! 

While  yet  of  sin  I  scarcely  dreamed, 
And  everything  was  what  it  seemed, 

And  all  too  bright  for  choice  ; 
When  fays  were  wont  to  guard  my  sleep, 
And  Crusoe  still  could  make  me  weep, 

And  Santa  Claus,  rejoice  ! 

When  Heaven  was  pictured  to  my  thought 
(In  spite  of  all  my  mother  taught 

Of  happiness  serene) 
A  theatre  of  boyish  plays,  — 
One  glorious  round  of  holidays, 

Without  a  school  between  ! 

Ah  me  !  those  joyous  days  are  gone ; 
I  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 

How  fleeting  were  the  hours ! 
For,  lest  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 

And  hides  his  face  in  flowers ! 


POST-PRANDIAL    VERSES.  197 


POST-PRANDIAL   VERSES. 

RECITED   AT   THE   FESTIVAL    OF  THE    PSI   UPSILON   FRATER- 
NITY,   IN   BOSTON,   JULY   21,    1853. 

DEAR  Brothers,  who  sit  at  this  bountiful  board, 
With  excellent  viands  so  lavishly  stored, 
That,  in  newspaper  phrase,  't  would  undoubtedly  groan, 
If  groaning  were  but  a  convivial  tone, 
Which  it  is  n't,  —  and  therefore,  by  sympathy  led, 
The  table,  no  doubt,  is  rejoicing  instead. 
Dear  Brothers,  I  rise,  —  and  it  won't  be  surprising 
If  you  find  me,  like  bread,  all  the  better  for  rising,  — 
I  rise  to  express  my  exceeding  delight 
In  our  cordial  reunion  this  glorious  night ! 

Success  to  "  Psi  UPSILON  !  " —  Beautiful  name  !  — 
To  the  eye  and  the  ear  it  is  pleasant  the  same ; 
Many  thanks  to  old  Cadmus  who  made  us  his  debtors, 
By  inventing,  one  day,  those  capital  letters 
Which  still,  from  the  heart,  we  shall  know  how  to  speak 
When  we  Ve  fairly  forgotten  the  rest  of  our  Greek  ! 

To  be  open  and  honest  in  all  that  you  do ; 
To  every  high  trust  to  be  faithful  and  true ; 
In  aught  that  concerns  morality's  scheme, 
To  be  more  ambitious  to  be  than  to  seem; 
To  cultivate  honor  as  higher  in  worth 
Than  favor  of  fortune,  or  genius,  or  birth  ; 
By  every  endeavor  to  render  your  lives 
As  spotless  and  fair  as  your  —  possible  wives  ; 
To  treat  with  respect  all  the  innocent  rules 


198  POST-PRANDIAL    VERSES. 

That  keep  us  at  peace  with  society's  fools  ; 

But  to  face  every  canon  that  e'er  was  designed 

To  batter  a  town  or  beleaguer  a  mind, 

Ere  you  yield  to  the  Moloch  that  Fashion  has  reared 

One  jot  of  your  freedom,  or  hair  of  your  beard,  — 

All  this,  and  much  more,  I  might  venture  to  teach, 

Had  I  only  a  "  call "  —  and  a  "  license  to  preach  "  — 

But  since  I  have  not,  to  my  modesty  true, 

I  '11  lay  it  all  by  —  as  a  layman  should  do  — 

And  drop  a  few  lines,  tipt  with  Momus's  flies, 

To  angle  for  shiners  —  that  lurk  in  your  eyes  ! 

May  you  ne'er  get  in  love  or  in  debt  with  a  doubt 

As  to  whether  or  no  you  will  ever  get  out ; 

May  you  ne'er  have  a  mistress  who  plays  the  coquette, 

Or  a  neighbor  who  blows  on  a  cracked  clarionet ; 

May  you  learn  the  first  use  of  a  lock  on  your  door, 

And  ne'er,  like  Adonis,  be  killed  by  a  bore  ; 

Shun  canting  and  canters  with  resolute  force  ; 

(A  "  canter  "  is  shocking,  except  in  a  horse  ;) 

At  jovial  parties  mind  what  you  are  at, 

Beware  of  your  head  and  take  care  of  your  hat, 

Lest  you  find  that  a  favorite  son  of  your  mother 

Has  a  brick  in  the  one  and  an  ache  in  the  other ; 

May  you  never,  I  pray,  to  worry  your  life, 

Have  a  weak-minded  friend,  or  a  strong-minded  wife  ; 

A  tailor  distrustful,  or  partner  suspicious  ; 

A  dog  that  is  rabid,  or  nag  that  is  vicious  ; 

Above  all  —  the  chief  blessing  the  gods  can  impart  — 

May  you  keep  a  clear  head  and  a  generous  heart ; 

Remember  't  is  blessed  to  give  and  forgive  ; 

Live  chiefly  to  love,  and  love  while  you  live ; 

And  dying,  when  life's  little  journey  is  done, 

May  your  last,  fondest  sigh,  be  Psi  UPSILON  ! 


"A 


THE  SILVER    WEDDING.  199 

THE    SILVER   WEDDING. 

TO    JOHN    NEWMAN,     D.  D. 

WEDDING  of  Silver  !  —  and  what  shall  we 

do  ?  " 

I  said  in  response  to  my  excellent  spouse, 

Who  hinted,  this  morning,  we  ought  to  renew, 

According  to  custom,  our  conjugal  vows. 

"  I  would  n't  much  mind  it,  now  —  if —  and  suppose  — 
The  bride  were  a  blooming —    Ah!  well — on  my 
life, 

I  think  —  to  be  candid  —  (don't  turn  up  your  nose  !) 
That  every  new  wedding  should  bring  a  new  wife  !  " 

"  And,  what  if  it  should  ? "  was  the  laughing  reply  ; 

"  Do  you  think,  my  dear  John,  you  could  ever  obtain 
Another  so  fond  and  faithful  as  I, 

Should  you  purchase  a  wig,  and  go  courting  again  ? " 

"  Ah  !    darling  "  —  I    answered  —  "  't   is  just   as   you 
say"; 

And,  clasping  a  waist  rather  shapely  than  small, 
I  kissed  the  dear  girl  in  so  ardent  a  way 

You  would  n't  have  guessed  we  were  married  at  all ! 

My  wedding-day,  Doctor,  is  also  your  own  ! 

And  so  I  send  greeting  to  bridegroom  and  bride,  — 
he  latter  a  wife  good  as  ever  was  known  ; 
The  former  well  worthy  her  homage  and  pride. 


200       THE   OLD    YEAR  AND    THE  NEW. 

God  bless  your  new  nuptials  !  —  Still  happy  at  home, 
May  you  both  grow  serenely  and  gracefully  old  ; 

And,  till  the  auriferous  wedding  shall  come, 

Find  the  years  that  are  past  were  as  silver  to  gold  ! 

September  9,  1866. 


THE   OLD  YEAR  AND   THE   NEW. 

f~*  OOD  by,  Old  Year  !  —  I  can  but  say, 
^-J      Sadly  I  see  thee  passing  away ; 
Passing  away  with  the  hopes  and  fears, 
The  bliss  and  pain,  the  smiles  and  tears, 
That  come  to  us  all  in  all  the  years. 

Good  by,  Old  Year  !  —  Little  indeed 
Thy  friendly  voice  we  were  wont  to  heed, 
Telling  us,  warning  us  every  day  :  — 
"  Transient  mortals  !  work  and  pray ; 
You,  like  me,  are  passing  away ! " 

Good  by,  Old  Year !  —  Whatever  may  be 
The  sins  and  stains  thou  hast  chanced  to  see, 
Consider,  O  Year !  to  purge  the  same, 
And  wash  away  the  sin  and  shame, 
Whilst  thou  wert  passing,  CHRISTMAS  came ! 

Good  by,  Old  Year  !  —  With  words  of  grace 
Leave  us  to  him  who  takes  thy  place  ; 
And  say,  Old  Year,  unto  the  New, 
"  Kindly,  carefully,  carry  them  through, 
For  much,  I  ween,  they  have  yet  to  do  ! " 


ROGER  BONTEMPS.  2OI 

AUGUSTA. 

"  Incedit  regina  I  " 

"  TTANDSOME  and  haughty!"  —  a  comment  that 
came 

From  lips  which  were  never  accustomed  to  malice ; 
A  girl  with  a  presence  superb  as  her  name, 

And  charmingly  fitted  for  love  —  in  a  palace ! 
And  oft  I  have  wished  (for  in  musing  alone 

One's  fancy  is  apt  to  be  very  erratic) 
That  the  lady  might  wear  —  No  !  I  never  will  own 

A  thought  so  decidedly  undemocratic  !  — 
But  if  \  were  a  coronet  —  this  I  '11  aver, 

No  duchess  on  earth  could  more  gracefully  wear  it ; 
And  even  a  democrat  —  thinking  of  her — 

Might  surely  be  pardoned  for  wishing  to  share  it  ! 


ROGER   BONTEMPS. 

IMITATED     FROM     BERANGER. 
I. 

BY  way  of  good  example 
To  all  the  gloomy  clan, 
There  came  into  existence 
Good  Robin  Merryman. 
To  laugh  at  those  who  grumble, 

And  be  jolly  as  he  can,  — 
O  that 's  the  only  system 
Of  Robin  Merryman  ! 


202  ROGER  BONTEMPS. 

II. 
A  hat  so  very  ancient 

It  might  have  covered  Moses, 
Adorned,  on  great  occasions, 

With  ivy-leaves  or  roses  ; 
A  coat  the  very  coarsest 

Since  tailoring  began,  — 
O  that 's  the  gay  apparel 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

in. 
Within  his  cottage  Robin 

With  joyful  eye  regards 
A  table  and  a  bedstead, 

A  flute,  a  pack  of  cards, 
A  chest —  with  nothing  in  it,  — 

An  earthen  water-can,  — 
O  these  are  all  the  riches 

Of  Robin  Merryman! 

IV. 

To  teach  the  village  children 

The  funniest  kind  of  plays  ; 
To  tell  a  clever  story  ; 

To  dance  on  holidays  ; 
To  puzzle  through  the  almanac  ; 

A  merry  song  to  scan,  — 
O  that  is  all  the  learning 

Of  Robin  Merryman  ! 

v. 
To  drink  his  mug  of  cider, 

And  never  sigh  for  wine  ; 
To  look  at  courtly  ladies, 

Yet  think  his  Mag  divine  ; 


THE  KING   OF  NORMANDY. 

To  take  the  good  that 's  going, 
Content  with  Nature's  plan, — 

O  that  is  the  philosophy 
Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

VI. 

To  say,  "  O  Gracious  Father  ! 

Excuse  my  merry  pranks  ; 
For  all  thy  loving-kindness 

I  give  thee  hearty  thanks  ; 
And  may  I  still  be  jolly 

Through  life's  remaining  span,"  — 
O  that  's  the  style  of  praying 

With  Robin  Merryman  ! 

VII. 

Now,  all  ye  wretched  mortals 

Aspiring  to  be  rich  ; 
And  ye  whose  gilded  coaches 

Have  tumbled  in  the  ditch ; 
Leave  off  your  silly  whining, 

Adopt  a  wiser  plan  ; 
Go  follow  the  example 

Of  Robin  Merryman  1 


THE    KING    OF    NORMANDY. 

(From  Beranger's  "  Le  Roi  d'Yvetot.") 
I. 

T  N  Normandy  there  reigned  a  king 
-L      (I  've  quite  forgot  his  name), 
Who  led  a  jolly  sort  of  life, 
And  did  n't  care  for  fame. 


203 


204 


THE  KIXG   OF 


A  nightcap  was  his  crown  of  state, 
Which  Jenny  placed  upon  his  pate  : 
Ha  !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing  : 
O  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

II. 
He  ate  his  meals,  like  other  folk, 

Slept  soundly  and  secure, 
And  on  a  donkey  every  year 

He  made  his  royal  tour  ; 
A  little  dog  —  it  was  his  whim  — 
Was  body-guard  enough  for  hint  : 
Ha  !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing  : 
O  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

III. 
A  single  foible  he  confessed,  — 

A  tendency  to  drink  ; 
But  kings  who  heed  their  subjects'  need, 

Should  mind  their  own,  I  think  ; 
And  thus  it  was  his  tax  he  got,  — 
For  every  cask  an  extra  pot  : 

Ha  !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing  : 
O  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

IV. 

The  lasses  loved  this  worthy  king  ; 

And  many  a  merry  youth 
Would  hail  his  majesty  as  "  Sire," 

And  often  spoke  the  truth. 
He  viewed  his  troops  in  goodly  ranks, 
But  still  their  cartridges  were  blanks. 
Ha  !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing  : 
O  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 


THE  HUNTER  AND    THE  MILKMAID.  205 

V. 
He  never  stole  his  neighbors'  land 

To  magnify  his  realm  ; 
But  steered  his  little  ship  of  state 

With  honor  at  the  helm  ; 
And  when  at  last  the  king  was  dead, 
No  wonder  all  the  people  said  :  — 
"  Ah  !  ah  !  —  weep  and  sing  : 
O  was  n't  he  a  noble  king  ? " 


THE    HUNTER  AND   THE   MILKMAID. 

(From  Beranger's  "  Le  Chasseur  et  la  Laiti&re.") 


THE  lark  is  singing  her  matin  lay, 
O  come  with  me,  fair  maiden,  I  pray  ; 
Sweet,  O  sweet  is  the  morning  hour, 
And  sweeter  still  is  yon  ivied  bower  ; 
Wreaths  of  roses  I  '11  twine  for  thee, 
O  come,  fair  maiden,  along  with  me  ! 

Ah  !  Sir  Hunter,  my  mother  is  near; 
I  really  must  n't  be  loitering  here  ! 


Thy  mother,  fair  maiden,  is  far  away, 
And  never  will  listen  a  word  we  say  ; 
I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  that  ladies  sing 
In  royal  castles  to  please  the  king  ; 
A  wondrous  song  whose  magical  charm 
Will  keep  the  singer  from  every  harm. 

Fie!  Sir  Hunter,  —  a  fig  for  your  song; 

Good  by!  —  for  I  must  be  going  along! 


2o6    THE  HUNTER  AND    THE  MILKMAID. 

III. 

Ah  !  well,  —  if  singing  will  not  prevail, 
I  '11  tell  thee,  then,  a  terrible  tale ; 
'T  is  all  about  a  Baron  so  bold, 
Huge  and  swart,  and  ugly  and  old, 
Who  saw  the  ghost  of  his  murdered  wife,  — 
A  pleasant  story,  upon  my  life  ! 

Ah  !  Sir  Hunter,  the  story  is  flat ; 

7  know  one  worth  a  dozen  of  that. 

IV. 

I  '11  teach  thee,  then,  a  curious  prayer 
Of  wondrous  power  the  wolf  to  scare, 
And  frighten  the  witch  that  hovers  nigh 
To  blight  the  young  with  her  evil  eye  ; 
O  guard,  fair  maiden,  thy  beauty  well, 
A  fearful  thing  is  her  wicked  spell ! 

O,  I  can  read  my  missal,  you  know ; 

Good  by  !  Sir  Hunter, —  for  I  must  go  ! 

V. 

Nay,  tarry  a  moment,  my  charming  girl ; 
Here  is  a  jewel  of  gold  and  pearl ; 
A  beautiful  cross  it  is,  I  ween, 
As  ever  on  beauty's  breast  was  seen  : 
There  's  nothing  at  all  but  love  to  pay ; 
Take  it,  and  wear  it,  but  only  stay  ! 

Ah  !  Sir  Hunter,  what  excellent  taste  ! 

7  ym  not  —  in  such  — particular  —  haste  ! 


THE  DINNER.  207 


THE    DINNER. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 

AH  !  many  a  guest  is  coming 
Around  my  table  to-day  ; 
The  fish,  the  flesh,  and  the  poultry 

Are  smoking  in  goodly  array  ; 
The  invitations  were  special, 

They  say  they  will  surely  appear ; 
Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window ; 
Time  that  the  people  were  here  ! 

Girls  are  coming  by  dozens, 

Maidens  whom  even  their  foes 
Never  have  once  detected 

Kissing  beneath  the  rose  ; 
Such  are  the  damsels  invited  ; 

They  said  they  would  surely  appear ; 
Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window ; 

Time  that  the  maidens  were  here  ! 

Plenty  of  fine  young  fellows 

Are  coming  to  drink  my  health  ; 
Civil,  and  moral,  and  modest, 

Spite  of  their  titles  and  wealth  ; 
The  invitations  were  early  ; 

They  say  they  will  surely  appear ; 
Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window  ; 

Time  that  the  younkers  were  here  ! 

Plenty  of  wives  are  coming, 
Such  as  the  ugliest  spouse 


THE  DINNER. 

Never  has  driven  a  moment 
To  think  of  breaking  their  vows  ; 

How  pleasant  to  see  them  together ; 
They  said  they  would  surely  appear ; 

Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window  ; 
Time  that  the  women  were  here  ! 

Husbands  also  are  coming, 

Models  of  temperate  lives  ; 
Men  who  are  blind  to  beauty, 

Save  in  their  excellent  wives  ; 
All  were  politely  invited  ; 

And  say  they  will  surely  appear ; 
Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window  ; 

Time  that  the  fellows  were  here  ! 

Poets  are  also  invited  ; 

The  pleasantest  ever  were  known  ; 
Who  list  to  another's  verses 

Cheerfully  as  to  their  own  ; 
What  capital  dining  companions  ! 

They  said  they  would  surely  appear ; 
Hans  !  go  look  at  the  window  ; 

Time  that  the  poets  were  here  ! 

Alas!  —  with  watching  and  waiting, 

The  dinner  is  certainly  spoiled  ; 
The  viands  are  cold  in  the  dishes, 

The  roast  and  the  baked  and  the  boiled ; 
Perhaps  we  were  over-punctilious  ; 

Our  feast  is  a  failure,  I  fear  ! 
Hans  !  come  away  from  the  window ; 

Never  a  one  will  be  here  ! 


209 


FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE. 
FOOLS    INCORRIGIBLE. 

FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF    GOETHE. 


I. 

ALL  the  old  sages,  however  indeed 
They  wrangle  and  fight  in  the  bitterest  way, 
In  one  thing,  at  least,  are  fully  agreed  : 

They  wink  at  each  other  and  laughingly  say, 
For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to  wait, 
Fools  will  befools  as  certain  as  fate  j 

Sons  of  Wisdom  !  make  ''cm  your  tools ; 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 

II. 

MERLIN,  the  ancient,  —  long  in  his  shroud, — 

.  Where  I  accosted  him  once  in  my  youth, 
Unto  my  questioning  answered  aloud, 

Solemnly  speaking  this  notable  truth  : 
For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to  wait, 
Fools  will  befools  as  certain  as  fate; 

Sons  of  Wisdom  !  make  ''em  your  tools; 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 

in. 

High  on  the  top  of  an  Indian  mound 
I  heard  it  once  in  the  passing  air ; 
And  Egypt's  vaults,  deep  under  the  ground, 

The  same  old  tale  were  echoing  there : 
For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to  wait, 
Fools  will  be  fools  as  certain  as  fate ; 

Sons  of  Wisdom  !  make  'em  your  tools, 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 


210  THE  BEST  OF  HUSBANDS. 

THE   BEST   OF   HUSBANDS. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN. 

OI  HAVE  a  man  as  good  as  can  be  ; 
No  woman  could  wish  for  a  better  than  he  ; 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  may  chance  to  be  wrong, 
But  his  love  for  me  is  uncommonly  strong ! 

He  has  one  little  fault  that  makes  me  fret, 
He  has  ever  less  money,  by  far,  than  debt ; 
Moreover  he  thrashes  me  now  and  then  ; 
But,  excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men ! 

I  own  he  is  dreadfully  given  to  drink ; 
Besides,  he  is  rather  too  fond,  I  think, 
Of  playing  at  cards  and  dice  ;  but  then, 
Excepting  that,  he 's  the  best  of  men  ? 

He  loves  to  chat  with  the  girls,  I  know 
('T  is  the  way  with  men,  —  they  are  always  so) ; 
But  what  care  I  for  his  flirting,  when, 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men  ? 

When  soaked  with  rum,  he  is  hardly  polite, 
But  knocks  the  crockery  left  and  right ; 
And  pulls  my  hair,  and  growls  again, 
But  excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men  I 

I  can't  but  say  I  think  he  is  rash 
To  pawn  my  pewter,  and  spend  the  cash, 
But  I  have  n't  the  heart  to  scold  him,  when, 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men ! 

What  joy  to  think  he  is  all  my  own  ! 

The  best  of  husbands  that  ever  was  known ; 

As  good,  indeed,  as  a  man  can  be ; 

And  who  could  wish  for  a  better  than  he? 


LOVE    POEMS. 


LOVE     POEMS. 


WOULD  N'T  YOU   LIKE   TO   KNOW? 

A  MADRIGAL. 
I. 

T   KNOW  a  girl  with  teeth  of  pearl, 
•*•   And  shoulders  white  as  snow ; 

She  lives,  —  ah  !  well, 

I  must  not  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

II. 

Her  sunny  hair  is  wondrous  fair, 
And  wavy  in  its  flow  ; 

Who  made  it  less 

One  little  tress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

in. 

Her  eyes  are  blue  (celestial  hue !) 
And  dazzling  in  their  glow ; 


214 


WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE    TO  KNOW? 

On  whom  they  beam 
With  melting  gleam,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

IV. 

Her  lips  are  red  and  finely  wed, 
Like  roses  ere  they  blow  ; 

What  lover  sips 

Those  dewy  lips,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

v. 

Her  fingers  are  like  lilies  fair 
When  lilies  fairest  grow  ; 

Whose  hand  they  press 

With  fond  caress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

VI. 

Her  foot  is  small,  and  has  a  fall 
Like  snowflakes  on  the  snow ; 

And  where  it  goes 

Beneath  the  rose,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

VII. 

She  has  a  name,  the  sweetest  name 
That  language  can  bestow  ; 

'T  would  break  the  spell 

If  I  should  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


THE  LOVER'S   VISION.  215 


THE    LOVER'S    VISION. 


I 


I. 

N  my  watching,  or  my  dreaming, 

Came  to  me  a  blessdd  vision  ; 
Whether  real  or  but  seeming, 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision  ; 
This  I  know  —  \  was  all  elysian  ! 

II. 

By  me  sat  a  maiden  fairer 

Than  the  Oda's  king  possesses ; 

But  I  wrong  her  to  compare  her  — 
Happy,  happy  whom  she  blesses 
With  her  kisses  and  caresses  ! 

ill. 

Golden  hair,  like  sunlight  streaming 
On  the  marble  of  her  shoulder, 

That  with  soft  and  snowy  gleaming 
Witched  the  eye  of  the  beholder  — 
Dazed  me  —  crazed  me  to  enfold  her  ! 

IV. 

Heart  to  heart  we  sat  together ; 
(Ah  !  to  feel  her  bosom's  beating  !) 

Hand  in  hand  in  loving  tether ; 
Lip  with  lip  in  rapture  meeting, 
Parting  but  for  closer  greeting  ! 

v. 

Oft  and  oft  I  would  be  dreaming, 
Could  I  bring  that  happy  vision  ! 


216  THE  OATH, 

Was  it  real  ?  or  but  seeming  ? 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision  ; 
This  I  know  —  \  was  all  elysian  ! 


THE    OATH. 

"  TPVON'T  forget  me  ! "  sighing  sadly, 
•1— ^     So  my  darling  bade  farewell ; 

Haply  deeming  I  would  gladly 
Disenchant  me  of  her  spell. 

Ah  !  the  siren  !  when  did  Beauty 
Ask  in  vain  Love's  simple  debt  ? 

Or  whene'er  did  languid  Duty 

Heed  the  warning,  "  Don't  forget ! " 

By  her  eyes  where  love  reposes  ; 

By  her  wealth  of  golden  hair  ; 
By  her  cheek's  ungathered  roses  ; 

By  her  neck  divinely  fair ; 

By  her  bosom,  throne  of  blisses, 
Hiding  from  the  wanton  light, 

Pale  with  envy  at  the  kisses 
That  her  bolder  lips  invite ; 

By  the  hours  so  sweetly  squandered 

In  the  summer  afternoons  ; 
By  the  orchard  where  we  wandered 

In  the  sheen  of  harvest  moons  ; 

By  the  poets,  new  and  olden, 
Who  in  pity  lent  us  speech 


UNREST.  2  !  7 

For  the  fancies,  rare  and  golden, 

That  our  words  could  never  reach,  — 

By  all  these  my  oath  is  given, 

Though  my  soul  remember  not 
Earthly  fame  or  hope  of  heaven, 

She  shall  never  be  forgot ! 


UNREST. 

ONE  o'clock!  and  still  I  ponder 
On  the  joys  of  yesterday  ; 
Never  lover  weaker,  fonder, 
Sighed  the  weary  hours  away. 

Ill-content  with  saying,  singing, 
All  its  worship  o'er  and  o'er ; 

Still  the  heart  would  fain  be  clinging 
Round  its  idol,  evermore  ! 

Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  sorrow, 
Thinking  o'er  each  fervent  kiss,  — 

Still  I  vainly  strive  to  borrow 
From  the  Past  its  buried  bliss. 

Now  I  hear  her  fondly  sighing, 
As  when  late  we  sat  alone, 

While  the  dancers'  feet  were  flying, 
Ah  !  the  sigh  is  but  my  own  ! 

"  Thus  my  darling  I  would  smother ! " 
In  my  dreaming  oft  I  say  ; 

Foolish  lips  !  that  kiss  each  other  ! 
Hers,  alas  !  are  far  away  ! 


218  TO  MY  LOVE. 

On  my  cheek  I  feel  the  billow 
Of  her  glowing  bosom  beat, — 

Ah  !  't  is  but  the  pulseless  pillow  ! 
Shall  I  curse,  or  bless  the  cheat  ? 

Dreaming  —  waking  —  I  am  weary  ; 

Would  that  morning  might  appear ; 
O,  't  is  dreary  —  very  dreary  — 

Thus  to  love,  and  not  be  near  ! 


TO    MY   LOVE. 

"  Da  mi  basia."  —  CATULLUS. 

I. 

KISS  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low  ; 
Malice  has  ever  a  vigilant  ear  ; 
What  if  Malice  were  lurking  near  ? 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 

II. 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low  ; 
Envy  too  has  a  watchful  ear  ; 
What  if  Envy  should  chance  to  hear  ? 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 

in. 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low ; 
Trust  me,  darling,  the  time  is  near 
When  we  may  love  with  never  a  fear ; 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 


TO  LESBIA.  219 


TO    LESBIA. 

"  On  s'embrasse  a  chaque  instant, 

Puis  encore  !  " 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

I. 

GIVE  me  kisses  !  —  do  not  stay, 
Counting  in  that  careful  way  ; 
All  the  coins  your  lips  can  print 
Never  will  exhaust  the  mint ; 
Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again ! 

II. 

Give  me  kisses  1  —  do  not  stop, 
Measuring  nectar  by  the  drop  ; 
Though  to  millions  they  amount, 
They  will  never  drain  the  fount ; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 

ill. 

Give  me  kisses  !  —  all  is  waste 
Save  the  luxury  we  taste  ; 
And  for  kissing  —  kisses  live 
Only  when  we  take  or  give  ; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 

IV. 

Give  me  kisses  !  —  though  their  worth 
Far  exceeds  the  gems  of  earth, 


220  MY  SAXON  BLONDE. 

Never  pearls  so  rich  and  pure 
Cost  so  little,  I  am  sure  ; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 


v. 

Give  me  kisses  !  —  Nay,  't  is  true 
I  am  just  as  rich  as  you  ; 
And  for  every  kiss  I  owe, 
I  can  pay  you  back,  you  know  ; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  I 


MY    SAXON    BLONDE. 

THEY  say  the  dark-eyed  maids  of  Spain 
Are  passionate  and  fond  ; 
But  eyes  of  blue  are  tender  and  true ; 
Give  me  my  Saxon  blonde  ! 

An  arch  coquette  is  the  bright  brunette  ; 

Blithe  and  merry  and  gay  ; 
Her  love  may  last  till  the  Summer  is  past, 

But  my  blonde's  forever  and  aye  ! 

If  bards  of  old  the  truth  have  told, 

The  Sirens  have  raven  hair ; 
But  o'er  the  earth,  since  art  had  birth, 

They  paint  the  Angels  fair  ! 


DARLING,    TELL  ME    YES.  22I 

Ah,  well !  —  maybe,  the  truth  to  see, 

A  lover  is  over  fond  ; 
And  I  can't  deny  —  nor  will  I  try  — 

My  love  is  a  golden  blonde  ! 


DARLING,    TELL    ME   YES, 

A    SONG. 
I. 

ONE  little  moment  more,  Maud  ; 
One  little  whisper  more  ; 
I  have  a  word  to  speak,  Maud, 

I  never  breathed  before. 
What  can  it  be  but  love,  Maud  ? 

And  do  I  rightly  guess 
'T  is  pleasant  to  your  ear,  Maud? 
O  darling  !  tell 


II. 

The  burden  of  my  heart,  Maud, 

There  's  little  need  to  tell ; 
There  's  little  need  to  say,  Maud, 

I  've  loved  you  long  and  well. 
There  's  language  in  a  sigh,  Maud, 

One  's  meaning  to  express  ; 
And  yours  —  was  it  for  me,  Maud  ? 

O  darling  !  tell  me  yes  ! 

in. 

My  eyes  have  told  my  love,  Maud  ; 
And  on  my  burning  cheek 


222  TIME  AND  LOVE. 

You  Ve  read  the  tender  thought,  Maud, 

My  lips  refused  to  speak. 
I  gave  you  all  my  heart,  Maud  ; 

'T  is  needless  to  confess  ; 
And  did  you  give  me  yours,  Maud  ? 

O  darling  !  tell  me  yes  ! 


IV. 

'T  is  sad  to  starve  a  love,  Maud, 

So  worshipful  and  true  ; 
I  know  a  little  cot,  Maud, 

Quite  large  enough  for  two  ; 
And  you  will  be  my  wife,  Maud  ? 

So  may  you  ever  bless, 
Through  all  your  sunny_life,  Maud, 

The  day  you  answered  yes  ! 


TIME    AND    LOVE. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

OLD  Time  and  young  Love,  on  a  morning  in  May, 
Chanced  to  meet  by  a  river  in  halcyon  weather, 
And,  agreeing  for  once,  ('t  is  a  fable,  you  '11  say,) 
In  the  same  little  boat  made  a  voyage  together. 

Strong,  steady,  and  patient,  Time  pulled  at  his  oar, 
And  swift  o'er  the  water  the  voyagers  go  ; 

But  Love  —  who  was  thinking  of  Pleasure  on  shore  — 
Complained  that  his  boatman  was  wretchedly  slow. 


TIME  AND  LOVE. 


223 


But  Time,  the  old  sailor,  expert  at  his  trade, 
And  knowing  the  leagues  that  remained  to  be  done, 

Content  with  the  regular  speed  that  he  made, 
Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept  steadily  on. 

Love,  always  impatient  of  doubt  or  delay, 
Now  sighed  for  the  aid  of  the  favoring  gales, 

And  scolded  at  Time,  in  the  sauciest  way, 

For  not  having  furnished  the  shallop  with  sails. 

But  Time,  as  serene  as  a  calendar  saint, 

(Whatever  the  graybeard  was  thinking  upon,) 

All-deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  younker's  complaint, 
Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept  steadily  on. 

Love,  vexed  at  the  heart,  only  clamored  the  more, 
And  cried,  "  By  the  gods  !  in  what  country  or  clime 

Was  ever  a  lubber  who  handled  an  oar 
In  so  lazy  a  fashion  as  old  Father  Time !" 

But  Time  only  smiled  in  a  cynical  way, 

('T  is  often  the  mode  with  your  elderly  Don,) 

As  one  who  knows  more  than  he  cares  to  display, 
And  still  at  his  oar  pulled  steadily  on. 

Grown  calmer  at  last,  the  exuberant  boy 

Enlivens  the  minutes  with  snatches  of  rhyme  ; 

The  voyage,  at  length,  he  begins  to  enjoy, 

And  soon  has  forgotten  the  presence  of  Time ! 

But  Time,  the  severe,  egotistical  elf, 

Since  the  day  that  his  travels  he  entered  upon, 

Has  ne'er  for  a  moment  forgotten  himself, 
But  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps  steadily  on. 


224 


LOVE'S  CALENDAR. 


Awaking  once  more,  Love  sees  with  a  sigh 

That  the  River  of  Life  will  be  presently  passed, 

And  now  he  breaks  forth  with  a  piteous  cry, 

"  O  Time,  gentle  Time !  you  are  rowing  too  fast !" 

But  Time,  well  knowing  that  Love  will  be  dead, 

Dead,  —  dead  !  in  the  boat !  —  ere  the  voyage  is  done, 

Only  gives  him  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head, 
While  he  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps  steadily  on ! 


LOVE'S    CALENDAR. 

TO   AN   ABSENT   WIFK. 

O  SINCE  'tis  decreed  by  the  envious  Fates, 
All  deaf  to  the  clamoring  heart, 
That  the  truest  and  fondest  of  conjugal  mates 
Shall  often  be  sighing  apart ; 

Since  the  Days  of  our  absence  are  many  and  sad, 
And  the  Hours  of  our  meeting  are  few  ; 

Ah !  what  in  a  case  so  exceedingly  bad, 
Can  the  deepest  philosophy  do  ? 

Pray  what  can  we  do,  —  unfortunate  elves, 

Unconscious  of  folly  or  crime,  — 
But  make  a  new  Calendar  up  for  ourselves, 

For  the  better  appraisal  of  time  ? 

And  the  Hours  alone  shall  the  Calendar  fill, 
(While  Blanks  show  their  distance  apart,)  . 

Just  sufficiently  near  to  keep  off  the  chill 
That  else  might  be  freezing  the  heart ; 


THE  LAWYER'S   VALENTINE. 


225 


And  each  Hour  shall  be  such  a  glorious  hour, 

Its  moments  so  precious  and  dear, 
That  in  breadth,  and  in  depth,  and  in  bliss-giving 
power, 

It  may  fairly  be  reckoned  a  year  ! 


THE    LAWYER'S    VALENTINE. 

T  'M  notified,  fair  neighbor  mine, 
•*-     By  one  of  our  profession, 
That  this  —  the  Term  of  Valentine  — 
Is  Cupid's  Special  Session. 

Permit  me,  therefore,  to  report 

Myself,  on  this  occasion, 
Quite  ready  to  proceed  to  Court, 

And  File  my  Declaration. 

I  've  an  Attachment  for  you,  too  ; 

A  legal  and  a  strong  one ; 
O,  yield  unto  the  Process,  do ; 

Nor  let  it  be  a  long  one ! 

No  scowling  bailiff  lurks  behind ; 

He  'd  be  a  precious  noddy, 
Who,  failing  to  Arrest  the  mind, 

Should  go  and  Take  the  Body ! 

For  though  a  form  like  yours  might  throw 

A  sculptor  in  distraction  ; 
I  could  n't  serve  a  Capias  —  no  — 

I  'd  scorn  so  base  an  Action  ! 

10*  O 


226  A  REASONABLE  PETITION, 

O,  do  not  tell  me  of  your  youth, 

And  turn  away  demurely  ; 
For  though  you  're  very  young,  in  truth, 

You're  not  an  Infant  surely! 

The  Case  is  everything  to  me  ; 

My  heart  is  love's  own  tissue ; 
Don't  plead  a  Dilatory  Plea  ; 

Let 's  have  the  General  Issue  ! 

Or,  —  since  you  Ve  really  no  Defence, 
Why  not,  this  present  Session, 

Omitting  all  absurd  pretence, 
Give  judgment  by  Confession  ? 

So  shall  you  be  my  lawful  wife ; 

And  I  —  your  faithful  lover  — 
Be  Tenant  of  your  heart  for  Life, 

With  no  Remainder  over  ! 


A    REASONABLE    PETITION. 

YOU  say,  dearest  girl,  you  esteem  me, 
And  hint  of  respectful  regard, 
And  I  'm  certain  it  would  n't  beseem  me 

Such  an  excellent  gift  to  discard. 
But  even  the  Graces,  you  '11  own, 

Would  lose  half  their  beauty  apart,  — 
And  Esteem,  when  she  stands  all  alone, 

Looks  most  unbecomingly  tart. 
So  grant  me,  dear  girl,  this  petition  :  — 

If  Esteem  e'er  again  should  come  hither, 
Just  to  keep  her  in  cheerful  condition, 

Let  Love  come  in  company  with  her! 


THE   CHAPEL    OF  TWO  SAINTS.         227 


THE    CHAPEL   OF    TWO   SAINTS. 

T  N  a  famous  Tuscan  city 
•*-      Stands  a  chapel  snug  and  small ; 
Some  old  penitent's  oblation, 
With  a  double  dedication, 
To  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 

To  a  soul  so  stoutly  guarded 

What  of  evil  could  befall  ? 
When  was  ever  plan  completer 
Without  robbery  of  Peter, 

Paying  thus  his  due  to  Paul  ? 

There  it  was  I  saw  a  lady, 

Very  round  and  ripe  and  tall ; 
Surely  never  face  was  sweeter 
Than  she  turned  upon  St.  Peter, 
After  bowing  to  St.  Paul. 

Long  and  ardently  I  worshipped,  — 
Not  the  Saints,  nor  yet  their  Master, 

But  my  feminine  ideal ; 

Mea  culpa  !  she  was  real 

Flesh  and  blood,  and  they  were  plaster ! 

Good  St.  Anthony  was  tempted, 

Though  a  frigid  old  divine 
(Showing  saints  are  only  human), 
But  he  never  saw  a  woman 

Half  so  beautiful  as  mine  ! 


228  THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE  LAWYER. 

Pardon  then  my  bad  behavior, 

(Thus  upon  the  twain  I  call,) 
As  if  you  were  in  my  case, 
And  were  asking  special  grace 

Of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul ! 


THE    LITTLE   MAID   AND   THE   LAWYER, 

A    SONG. 


'  f  HEY  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
-•-       I  'm  the  cleverest  man  in  all  the  town. 

Heigh-ho  !  —  says  she, 

What  's  that  to  me  ? 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
You  're  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  the  town  ! 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 

What 's  that  to  you  ? 

II. 

They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
I  'm  the  richest  man  in  all  the  town. 

Heigh-ho  !  —  says  she, 

What  's  that  to  me  ? 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
You  ought  to  be  dressed  in  a  finer  gown  ! 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 

What  's  that  to  you  ? 

in. 

They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
That  Johnny  Hodge  is  an  awkward  clown. 


DRINKING  SONG.  229 

Heigh-ho  !  —  says  she, 

What  's  that  to  me  ? 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  the  lawyer  said, 
That  you  and  Johnny  are  going  to  wed  1 

Says  she,  If  we  do, 

What 's  that  to  you? 


DRINKING    SONG. 

BY    A    TEETOTALER. 
"  Ex  ipso  fonte  bibi."  —  OVID. 

I'VE  been  drinking  — I  've  been  drinking  - 
To  intoxication's  edge ; 
Do  not  chide  me,  —  for  the  tipple 
Was  n't  mentioned  in  the  pledge  ! 

Nay,  believe  me,  —  't  was  not  Brandy 
Wrought  the  roses  that  you  see  ; 

One  may  get  a  finer  crimson 
From  a  purer  eau-de-vie. 

No,  indeed,  —  it  was  not  Claret 
(That  were  something  over-weak) ; 

There  's  a  vastly  better  vintage 
For  the  painting  of  a  cheek. 

Not  Angelica  —  the  honey 

By  Loyola's  children  pressed 
From  the  Andalusian  clusters 

Ripened  in  the  Golden  West ; 


230  DRINKING  SONG. 

Not  Madeira,  Hock,  nor  Sherry ; 

No,  indeed,  't  is  none  of  these 
Makes  me  giddy  in  the  forehead, 

Makes  me  tremble  in  the  knees. 

No  ;  't  is  not  the  Gallic  "  Widow  " 
That  has  turned  my  foolish  brain, 

Nor  the  wine  of  any  vineyard 
Found  in  Germany  or  Spain. 

Nay  —  I  own  it !  —  't  is  the  nectar 
That  a  favored  lover  sips, 

(All  unheeding  of  the  danger  !) 
From  a  maiden's  pulpy  lips  ! 

This  it  is  that  I  've  been  drinking 

To  intoxication's  edge ; 
Till  I  marvel  that  the  tipple 

Is  n't  mentioned  in  the  pledge  I 

For  the  taste  is  so  enchanting 

'T  is  impossible  to  see, 
Should  it  grow  into  a  habit, 

What  the  consequence  may  be. 

Well  —  I  '11  heed  the  sage's  lesson, 
(Pleasant  —  though  it  prove  in  vain,) 

And  by  drinking  very  largely 
Try  to  sober  me  again  ! 


EGO  ET  ECHO. 
EGO    ET    ECHO. 

A    FANTASY. 
I. 

I  ASKED  of  Echo,  't  other  day, 
(Whose  words  are  few  and  often  funny,) 
What  to  a  novice  she  could  say 

Of  courtship,  love,  and  matrimony  ? 
Quoth  Echo,  plainly  :  "  Matter-<? -money  !" 

II. 

Whom  should  I  marry  ?  —  should  it  be 
A  dashing  damsel,  gay  and  pert, — 

A  pattern  of  inconstancy  ;  - 
Or  selfish,  mercenary  flirt  ? 
Quoth  Echo,  sharply:  "  Nary  flirt !  " 

ill. 
What  if —  aweary  of  the  strife 

That  long  has  lured  the  dear  deceiver  — 
She  promise  to  amend  her  life, 

And  sin  no  more,  can  I  believe  her  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  very  promptly:  "  Leave  her  I" 

IV. 

But  if  some  maiden  with  a  heart, 
On  me  should  venture  to  bestow  it : 

Pray,  should  I  act  the  wiser  part 
To  take  the  treasure,  or  forego  it  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  with  decision  :   "  Go  it!" 


231 


232  EGO  ET  ECHO. 

V. 

Suppose  a  billet-doux  (in  rhyme), 
As  warm  as  if  Catullus  penned  it, 

Declare  her  beauty  so  sublime 

That  Cytherea's  can't  transcend  it,  — 
Quoth  Echo,  very  clearly  :  "  Send  it  I  " 

VI. 

But  what  if,  seemingly  afraid 

To  bind  her  fate  in  Hymen's  fetter, 

She  vow  she  means  to  die  a  maid,  — 
In  answer  to  my  loving  letter? 
Quoth  Echo,  rather  coolly :  "Let  herl" 

VII. 
What  if,  in  spite  of  her  disdain, 

I  find  my  heart  entwined  about 
With  Cupid's  dear  delicious  chain, 

So  closely  that  I  can't  get  out  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  laughingly  :  "  Get  out  I " 

VIII. 

But  if  some  maid  with  beauty  blest, 
As  pure  and  fair  as  Heaven  can  make  her, 

Will  share  my  labor  and  my  rest, 

Till  envious  Death  shall  overtake  her  ?  — 
Quoth  Echo  (sotto  voce] :  "  Take  her  I " 


THE  MAIDEN  TO    THE  MOON. 


THE    MAIDEN    TO    THE    MOON.4 


233 


O 


MOON  !  did  you  see 

My  lover  and  me 
In  the  valley  beneath  the  sycamore-tree? 
Whatever  befell, 
O  Moon  !  —  don't  tell  — 
'T  was  nothing  amiss,  you  know  very  well ! 

O  Moon  !  —  you  know, 

A  long  time  ago 
You  left  the  sky  and  descended  below, 

Of  a  Summer's  night, 

By  your  own  sweet  light, 
To  meet  your  ENDYMION  on  Latmos  height. 

And  there,  O  Moon  ! 

You  gave  him  a  boon, 
You  would  n't,  I  'm  sure,  have  granted  at  noon  ; 

'T  was  nothing  amiss, 

Being  only  the  bliss 
Of  giving  —  and  taking  —  an  innocent  kiss  ! 

Some  churlish  lout, 

Who  was  spying  about, 
Went  off  and  blabbed  —  and  so  it  got  out ; 

But  for  all  the  gold 

The  sea  could  hold, 
O  Moon  !  — /  would  n't  have  gone  and  told  ! 

So,  Moon  !  —  don't  tell, 
Whatever  befell 


234 


DAISY  DA  K 

My  lover  and  me  in  the  leafy  dell ; 

He  is  honest  and  true, 

And,  remember,  too, 
We  only  behaved  like  your  lover  and  you ! 


DAISY    DAY. 

A     REMINISCENCE     OF     TRAVEL. 


I 


T  was  in  an  Irish  city, 

In  the  pleasant  month  of  May, 
That  I  met  the  clever,  pretty, 

Lively,  lovely  Daisy  Day. 
Like  myself,  a  transient  ranger 

From  Columbia's  troubled  shore, 
Could  I  deem  her  quite  a  stranger, 

Though  we  never  met  before  ? 

Love  of  country  —  so  despotic 

In  our  precious  native  land  — 
Finds  us  doubly  patriotic, 

Straying  on  a  foreign  strand  ; 
Hence,  perhaps,  her  friendly  manner, 

And  my  pulse's  quicker  play, 
When,  beneath  St.  Patrick's  banner, 

I  accosted  Daisy  Day. 

Bless  me  !  how  all  eyes  were  centred 
On  her,  when  the  parlor  door 

Opened,  and  the  lady  entered 
Like  a  queen  upon  the  floor  ! 

'T  was  as  if,  that  summer  even, 
Some  superlative  perfume, 


TO  A   BEAUTIFUL  STRANGER.  235 

Wafted  by  the  breath  of  Heaven, 
Suddenly  had  filled  the  room ! 

Happy  favorite  of  Nature, 

Hebe  in  her  sunny  face, 
Juno  in  her  queenly  stature, 

More  than  Juno  in  her  grace, 
Eyes  befitting  Beauty's  goddess, 

Mouth  to  steal  your  heart  away, 
Bust  that  strained  her  ample  boddice,  — 

Such  was  charming  Daisy  Day  ! 

Well  —  what  then  ?  —  Ah  !  Holy  Mother  ! 

Pardon  one  pathetic  sigh  ; 
She  's  the  "  partner  "  of  another, 

And  —  I  own  it  —  so  am  I ! 
But  a  poet  owes  to  Beauty 

More  than  common  men  can  pay, 
And  I  Ve  done  my  simple  duty, 

Singing  thus  of  Daisy  Day  ! 


TO    A    BEAUTIFUL    STRANGER. 

A    GLANCE,  a  smile,  —  I  see  it  yet !  — 
**•     A  moment  ere  the  train  was  starting  ; 
How  strange  to  tell !  —  we  scarcely  met, 
And  yet  I  felt  a  pang  at  parting ! 

And  you  (alas  !  that  all  the  while 
'T  is  /  alone  who  am  confessing  !) 

What  thought  was  lurking  in  your  smile 
Is  quite  beyond  my  simple  guessing. 


236  A   PHILOSOPHICAL   QUERY. 

I  only  know  those  beaming  rays 
Awoke  in  me  a  strange  emotion, 

Which,  basking  in  their  warmer  blaze, 
Perhaps  might  kindle  to  devotion. 

Ah  !  many  a  heart  as  stanch  as  this, 
By  smiling  lips  allured  from  Duty, 

Has  sunk  in  Passion's  dark  abyss,  — 
"  Wrecked  on  the  coral  reefs  of  Beauty  !  " 

And  so,  't  is  well  the  train's  swift  flight 
That  bore  away  my  charming  stranger 

Took  her  —  God  bless  her  !  —  out  of  sight, 
And  me,  as  quickly,  out  of  danger ! 


IF  Virtue  be  measured  by  what  we  resist, 
When  against  Inclination  we  strive, 
You  and  I  have  been  proved,  we  may  fairly  insist, 

The  most  virtuous  mortals  alive  ! 
Now  Virtue,  we  know,  is  the  brightest  of  pearls, 

But  as  Pleasure  is  hard  of  evasion, 
Should  we  envy,  or  pity,  the  stoical  churls 
Who  never  have  known  a  temptation  ? 


LIP-SERVICE. 


LIP-SERVICE. 


JULIA  once  and  once  again, 
In  coquettish  fashion, 
Heedless  of  her  lover's  pain, 

Mocked  his  burning  passion  : 
"  Words  of  worship  lightly  fall 

From  a  courtier,  surely  ; 
Mere  lip-service  —  that  is  all !  " 
Said  the  maid,  demurely. 

II. 
Then  his  kisses  fell  like  dew 

(Just  where  Love  would  choose  'em) 
On  her  mouth,  —  and  through  and  through 

Thrilled  her  glowing  bosom  ; 
Till  she  felt  —  nor  uttered  she 

Whisper  of  negation  — 
"  Mere  lip-service  "  still  may  be 

Perfect  adoration ! 


237 


FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS,  AND 
APOLOGUES. 


FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS,  AND 
APOLOGUES. 

FATHER   PUMPKIN;   OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 

AN     ARABIAN     TALE. 
I. 

T  N  Cairo  once  there  dwelt  a  worthy  man, 
•*-     Toilsome  and  frugal,  but  extremely  poor; 
"  Howe'er,"  he  grumbled,  "  I  may  toil  and  plan, 

The  wolf  is  ever  howling  at  my  door, 
While  arrant  rascals  thrive  and  prosper  ;  hence 
I  much  misdoubt  the  ways  of  Providence. 

II. 
"  Allah  is  Allah  ;  and,  we  all  agree, 

Mohammed  is  his  Prophet.     Be  it  so  ; 
But  what  's  Mohammed  ever  done  for  me, 

To  boil  my  kettle,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 
The  thieves  fare  better,  —  and  I  much  incline 
From  this  day  forth  to  make  their 'calling  mine." 

ill. 
"  Dog  of  an  Arab  !  "  cried  his  pious  spouse, 

"  So,  you  would  steal  to  better  your  estate, 
And  hasten  Allah's  vengeance  !  —  Shame  !  arouse  ! 

Why  sit  you  there  repining  at  your  fate  ? 


242  FATHER  PUMPKIN;   OR, 

Pray  to  the  Prophet,  —  sinner  that  you  are,  — 
Then  wash  your  face  and  go  to  the  Bazaar. 

IV. 

"  Take  with  you  pen  and  paper  and  a  book, 
And,  sitting  in  a  corner,  gravely  make 

Some  mystic  scrawls  ;  put  on  a  solemn  look, 
As  if  you  were  a  wise  and  learned  sheik  ; 

And,  mark  my  word,  the  people  in  a  trice 

Will  come  in  throngs  to  purchase  your  advice." 

v. 

"  'T  is  worth  a  trial,  woman,  I  confess  ; 

Things  can't  be  worse,"  the  moody  Arab  said  ; 
"  But  then,  alas  !    I  have  no  proper  dress, 

Not  e'en  a  turban  to  adorn  my  head." 
"Allah  be  praised  !  "-  —  Just  here  the  woman  spied 
A  hollow  pumpkin  lying  at  her  side. 

VI. 

"  See  !  this  will  do  !  "  and,  cutting  it  in  twain, 
She  placed  the  half  upon  her  husband's  pate  ; 

"'T  is  quaint  and  grave,  and  well  befits  thy  brain, 
Most  reverend  master,"  cried  the  dame,  elate  ; 

"  Now  to  thy  labor  hasten  thee  away, 

And  thou  shalt  prosper  from  this  very  day  !  " 

VII. 

And  so,  obedient  to  his  wife's  command, 
The  anxious  sheik  procured  a  little  nook 

In  the  Bazaar,  where,  sitting  by  a  stand, 
With  much  grimace  he  pored  upon  his  book, 

Peering  around,  at  intervals,  to  spy 

A  customer,  if  such  a  thing  were  nigh. 


ALWAYS  IN  LUCK.  243 

VIII. 

And  soon,  indeed,  a  customer  appeared, 
A  peasant  pale  and  sweating  with  distress. 

"  Good  Father  Pumpkin  !  may  your  mighty  beard  " 
(Bowing  in  reverence)  "  be  never  less  ! 

I  come  to  crave  your  counsel  ;  for,  alas  ! 

Most  learned  Father,  I  have  lost  my  ass." 

IX. 

"Now,  curse  the  donkey!"  cried  the  puzzled  man, 

Unto  himself,  "  and  curse  Fatima  too, 
Who  sent  me  here  !  for,  do  the  best  I  can, 

And  that  's  the  best  that  any  one  can  do, 
I  'm  sure  to  blunder."  So,  in  sheer  despair, 
He  named  the  graveyard  ;  "  Seek  your  donkey  there !  " 


x. 

It  chanced  the  ass  that  very  moment  grazed 
Within  the  graveyard,  as  the  sheik  had  told  ; 

And  so  the  peasant,  joyful  and  amazed, 

Gave  thanks  and  money  ;  nor  could  he  withhold 

His  pious  prayers,  but,  bowing  to  the  ground, 

Cried,  "  Great  is  Allah  !  —  for  my  ass  is  found !" 


XI. 

"  Allah  is  Allah  !  "  said  the  grateful  sheik, 
Returning  homeward  with  his  precious  fee ; 

"  I  much  rejoice  for  dear  Fatima's  sake  ; 

Few  men,  in  sooth,  have  such  a  mate  as  she ; 

Most  wives  are  bosh,  or  worse  than  bosh,  but  mine 

In  wit  and  beauty  is  almost  divine  !" 


244  FATHER  PUMPKIN;   OR, 

XII. 

Next  day  he  hastened  early  to  his  post, 

But  found  some  clients  had  arrived  before ; 

One  eager  dame  a  skein  of  silk  had  lost ; 
Another  money  ;  and  a  dozen  more, 

Of  either  sex,  were  waiting  to  recover 

A  fickle  mistress  or  a  truant  lover. 


XIII. 

With  solemn  face  the  sheik  replied  to  each 

Whate'er  his  whim  might  move  his  tongue  to  say  ; 

And  all  turned  out  according  to  his  speech ; 
And  so  it  chanced  for  many  a  lucky  day, 

Till  "  Father  Pumpkin  "  grew  a  famous  seer, 

Whose  praise  had  even  reached  the  Sultan's  ear. 


XIV. 

"  Allah  is  Allah  ! "  cried  the  happy  sheik  ; 

"  And  nevermore,  Fatima,  will  I  doubt 
Mohammed  is  his  prophet ;  let  us  take 

Our  ease  henceforward  —        Here  a  sudden  shout 
Announced  the  Sultan's  janizaries,  sent, 
They  said,  to  seize  him,  —  but  with  kind  intent. 


XV. 

"  The  Grand  Seraglio  has  been  robbed  by  knaves 
Of  all  the  royal  jewels  ;  and  the  Porte, 

To  get  them  back  again,  your  presence  craves 
In  Stamboul ;  he  will  pay  you  richly  fort, 

If  you  succeed  ;  if  not,  —  why  then,  instead 

Of  getting  money,  you  will  lose  your  head." 


ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 

XVI. 
"  My  curse  upon  thee  !  "  cried  the  angry  man 

Unto  Fatima  ;  "  see  what  thou  hast  done  ! 
O  woman,  woman  !  since  the  world  began 

All  direst  mischiefs  underneath  the  sun 
Are  woman's  doing  —        Here  the  Sultan's  throng 
Of  janizaries  bade  him,  "  Come  along  !  " 

XVII. 

The  seer's  arrival  being  now  proclaimed 
Throughout  the  capital,  the  robbers  quake 

With  very  fear  ;  while,  trembling  and  ashamed, 
In  deeper  terror  sits  the  wretched  sheik, 

Cursing  Fatima  for  a  wicked  wife 

Whose  rash  ambition  has  betrayed  his  life. 

XVIII. 

"  But  seven  short  days  my  sands  have  yet  to  run, 
And  then,  alas  !  I  lose  my  foolish  head  ; 

These  seven  white  beans  I  '11  swallow,  one  by  one, 
To  mark  each  passing  day  ere  I  am  dead. 

Alas  !  alas  !  the  Sultan's  hard  decree  ! 

The  sun  is  setting  :  there  goes  one  !  "  said  he. 

XIX. 

Just  then  a  thief  (the  leader  of  the  band 
Who  stole  the  Sultan's  jewels)  passing  by, 

Heard  the  remark,  and  saw  the  lifted  hand, 
And  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could  fly, 

To  tell  his  comrades  that,  beyond  a  doubt, 

The  cunning  seer  had  fairly  found  him  out! 


245 


246  FATHER  PUMPKIN;    OR, 

XX. 

Next  day  another,  ere  the  hour  was  dark, 

Passed  by  the  casement  where  the  sheik  was  seen  ; 

His  hand  was  lifted  warningly,  and  hark  ! 

"  There  goes  a  second  f"  (swallowing  the  bean.) 

The  robber  fled,  amazed,  and  told  the  crew 

*T  was  time  to  counsel  what  were  best  to  do  ! 


xxr. 

But  still,  —  as  if  the  faintest  doubt  to  cure,  — 
The  following  eve  the  robbers  sent  a  third  ; 

And  so  till  six  had  made  the  matter  sure, 
(For  unto  each  the  same  event  occurred), 

When,  taking  counsel,  they  at  once  agreed 

To  seek  the  wizard  and  confess  the  deed  ! 


XXII. 

"  Most  reverend  Father  ! "  thus  the  chief  began, 

"  Thy  thoughts  are  just ;  thy  spoken  words  are  true  ; 

To  hide  from  thee  surpasses  mortal  man  ; 
Our  evil  works  henceforward  we  eschew, 

For  now  we  know  that  sinning  never  thrives  ; 

Here,  take  the  jewels,  but  O,  spare  our  lives  !" 


XXIII. 

"  The  law  enjoins,"  the  joyful  sheik  replied, 
"  That  bloody  Death  shall  end  the  robber's  days ; 

But,  that  your  sudden  virtue  may  be  tried, 

Swear  on  the  Koran  you  will  mend  your  ways, 

And  then  depart."     The  robbers  roundly  swore, 

In  Allah's  name,  that  they  would  rob  no  more. 


ALWAYS  IN  LUCK.  247 

XXIV. 

"  Allah  is  Allah  !  "  cried  the  grateful  sheik, 

Holding  the  jewels  in  the  vizier's  face. 
The  vizier  answered,  "  Sir,  be  pleased  to  take 

The  casket  to  the  Sultan."     "  No,  your  Grace," 
The  sheik  replied,  "  the  gems  are  here,  you  see ; 
Pray,  tell  the  Sultan  he  may  come  to  me  !  " 

XXV. 

The  Sultan  came,  and,  ravished  to  behold 
The  precious  jewels  to  his  hand  restored, 

He  made  the  finder  rich  in  thanks  and  gold, 
And  on  the  instant  pledged  his  royal  word, 

And  straight  confirmed  it  in  the  Prophet's  name, 

To  grant  whatever  he  might  choose  to  claim  ! 


XXVI. 

"  Sire  of  the  Faithful !  publish  a  decree  " 

(The  sheik  made  answer)  "  and  proclaim  to  all 

That  none  henceforth  shall  ever  question  me 
Of  any  matter  either  great  or  small ; 

I  ask  no  more.     So  shall  my  labors  cease  ; 

My  waning  life  I  fain  would  spend  in  peace." 


XXVII. 

The  Sultan  answered  :   "  Be  it  even  so  ; 

And  may  your  beard  increase  a  thousand-fold  ; 
And  may  your  house  with  children  overflow  !  " 

And  so  the  sheik,  o'erwhelmed  with  praise  and  gold, 
Returned  unto  the  city  whence  he  came, 
Blessing  Mohammed's  and  Fatima's  name  ! 


248        THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER. 


PRAY  list  unto  a  legend 
The  ancient  poets  tell ; 
'T  is  of  a  mighty  monarch 

In  Persia  once  did  dwell ; 
A  mighty  queer  old  monarch 
Who  ruled  his  kingdom  well. 

II. 
"  I  must  build  another  palace," 

Observed  this  mighty  King ; 
"  For  this  is  getting  shabby 

Along  the  southern  wing ; 
And,  really,  for  a  monarch, 

It  is  n't  quite  the  thing. 

ill. 
"  So  I  will  have  a  new  one, 

Although  I  greatly  fear, 
To  build  it  just  to  suit  me, 

Will  cost  me  rather  dear  ; 
And  I  '11  choose,  God  wot,  another  spot, 

Much  finer  than  this  here." 

IV. 

So  he  travelled  o'er  his  kingdom 

A  proper  site  to  find, 
Where  he  might  build  a  palace 

Exactly  to  his  mind, 


THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER.       249 

All  with  a  pleasant  prospect 
Before  it,  and  behind. 

V. 
Not  long  with  this  endeavor 

The  King  had  travelled  round, 
Ere,  to  his  royal  pleasure, 

A  charming  spot  he  found  ; 
But  an  ancient  widow's  cabin 

Was  standing  on  the  ground. 

VI. 

"  Ah,  here,"  exclaimed  the  monarch, 

"  Is  just  the  proper  spot, 
If  this  woman  would  allow  me 

To  remove  her  little  cot." 
But  the  beldam  answered  plainly, 

She  had  rather  he  would  not ! 

VII. 
"  Within  this  lonely  cottage, 

Great  Monarch,  I  was  born ; 
And  only  from  this  cottage 

By  Death  will  I  be  torn  : 
So  spare  it,  in  your  justice, 

Or  spoil  it  in  your  scorn  ! " 

VIII. 

Then  all  the  courtiers  mocked  her, 

With  cruel  words  and  jeers  :  — 
"  'T  is  plain  her  royal  master 

She  neither  loves  nor  fears ; 
We  would  knock  her  ugly  hovel 

About  her  ugly  ears  ! 


250       THE  KING    AND    THE  COTTAGER. 

IX. 
"  When  ever  was  a  subject 

Who  might  the  King  withstand  ? 
Or  deem  his  spoken  pleasure 

As  less  than  his  command  ? 
Of  course  he  '11  rout  the  beldam, 

And  confiscate  her  land  !  " 


x. 

But,  to  their  deep  amazement, 

His  Majesty  replied : 
"  Good  woman,  never  heed  them, 

The  King  is  on  your  side  : 
Your  cottage  is  your  castle, 

And  here  you  shall  abide. 


XI. 

"  To  raze  it  in  a  moment, 
The  power  is  mine,  I  grant ; 

My  absolute  dominion 
A  hundred  poets  chant ; 

For  being  Khan  of  Persia, 

There  's  nothing  that  I  cadtf" 

XII. 

('T  was  in  this  pleasant  fashion 
The  mighty  monarch  spoke  ; 

For  kings  have  merry  fancies 
Like  other  mortal  folk  : 

And  none  so  high  and  mighty 
But  loves  his  little  joke.) 


THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER.       251 

XIII. 
"  But  power  is  scarcely  worthy 

Of  honor  or  applause, 
That  in  its  domination 

Contemns  the  widow's  cause, 
Or  perpetrates  injustice 

By  trampling  on  the  laws. 

XIV. 

"  That  I  have  wronged  the  meanest 

No  honest  tongue  may  say: 
So  bide  you  in  your  cottage, 

Good  woman,  while  you  may ; 
What 's  yours  by  deed  and  purchase 

No  man  may  take  away. 


XV. 

"  And  I  will  build  beside  it, 
For  though  your  cot  may  be 

In  such  a  lordly  presence 
No  fitting  thing  to  see, 

If  it  honor  not  my  castle, 
It  will  surely  honor  me  1 

XVI. 

"  For  so  my  loyal  people, 
Who  gaze  upon  the  sight, 

Shall  know  that  in  oppression 
I  do  not  take  delight ; 

Nor  hold  a  king's  convenience 
Before  a  subject's  right !  " 


252        THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER. 

XVII. 
Now  from  his  spoken  purpose 

The  King  departed  not ; 
He  built  the  royal  dwelling 

Upon  the  chosen  spot, 
And  there  they  stood  together, 

The  palace  and  the  cot ! 


XVIII. 

Sure  such  unseemly  neighbors 
Were  never  seen  before  ; 

"  His  Majesty  is  doting," 
His  silly  courtiers  swore  ; 

But  all  true  loyal  subjects, 
They  loved  the  King  the  more. 

XIX. 

Long,  long  he  ruled  his  kingdom 

In  honor  and  renown  ; 
But  danger  ever  threatens 

The  head  that  wears  a  crown, 
And  Fortune,  tired  of  smiling, 

For  once  put  on  a  frown. 

xx. 

For  ever  secret  Envy 

Attends  a  high  estate  ; 
And  ever  lurking  Malice 

Pursues  the  good  and  great ; 
And  ever  base  Ambition 

Will  end  in  deadly  Hate  ! 


THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER.       253 
XXI. 

And  so  two  wicked  courtiers, 

Who  long  had  strove  in  vain, 
By  craft  and  evil  counsels, 

To  mar  the  monarch's  reign, 
Contrived  a  scheme  infernal 

Whereby  he  should  be  slain  ! 

1  xxn. 

But  as  all  deeds  of  darkness 

Are  wont  to  leave  a  clew 
Before  the  glaring  sunlight 

To  bring  the  knaves  to  view, 
That  sin  may  be  rewarded, 

And  Satan  get  his  due,  — 


XXIII. 

To  plan  their  wicked  treason, 

They  sought  a  lonely  spot 
Behind  the  royal  palace, 

Hard  by  the  widow's  cot, 
Who  heard  their  machinations, 

And  straight  revealed  the  plot ! 

XXIV. 

"  I  see,"  exclaimed  the  Persian, 

"  The  just  are  wise  alone  ; 
Who  spares  the  rights  of  others 

May  chance  to  guard  his  own ; 
The  widow's  humble  cottage 

Has  propped  a  monarch's  throne  !" 


254 


THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTHWIND. 


THE   YOUTH   AND   THE   NORTHWIND. 

A  TALE  OF   NORWAY. 

ONCE  on  a  time  —  't  was  long  ago  — 
There  lived  a  worthy  dame 
Who  sent  her  son  to  fetch  some  flour, 
For  she  was  old  and  lame. 

But  while  he  loitered  on  the  road, 

The  Northwind  chanced  to  stray 
Across  the  careless  younker's  path, 

And  stole  the  flour  away. 

"  Alas !  what  shall  we  do  for  bread  ?  " 

Exclaimed  the  weeping  lad  ; 
"  The  flour  is  gone !  —  the  flour  is  gone !  — 

And  it  was  all  we  had  ! " 

And  so  he  sought  the  Northwind's  cave, 

Beside  the  distant  main  ; 
"  Good  Mister  Boreas  !  "  said  the  lad, 

"  I  want  my  flour  again ! " 

"  'T  was  all  we  had  to  live  upon,  — 
My  mother  old  and  I  ; 

0  give  us  back  the  flour  again, 
Or  we  shall  surely  die  !  " 

"  I  have  it  not,"  the  Northwind  growled ; 
"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 

1  give  to  you  this  table-cloth  ; 
'T  will  serve  you  well  instead ; 


THE    YOUTH  AATD    THE  NORTHWIND. 

"  For  you  have  but  to  spread  it  out, 

And  every  costly  dish 
Will  straight  appear  at  your  command, 

Whatever  you  may  wish." 

The  lad  received  the  magic  cloth, 

With  wonder  and  delight, 
And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 

As  well,  indeed,  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  an  inn 

Just  half  his  journey  through, 
He  fain  must  show  his  table-cloth, 

And  what  the  cloth  could  do. 

So  while  he  slept,  the  knavish  host 

Went  slyly  to  his  bed, 
And  stole  the  cloth,  —  but  shrewdly  placed 

Another  in  its  stead. 

Unknowing  what  the  rogue  had  done, 

The  lad  went  on  his  way, 
And  came  unto  his  journey's  end 

Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  showed  the  dame  his  table-cloth, 

And  told  her  of  its  power ; 
"  Good  sooth  !  "  he  cried,  "  't  was  well  for  us 

The  Northwind  stole  the  flour  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  exclaimed  the  cautious  crone, 

"  The  story  may  be  true  ; 
'T  is  mighty  little  good,  I  ween, 

Your  table-cloth  can  do  !  " 


255 


256     THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTHWIND. 

And  now  the  younker  spread  it  forth, 

And  tiied  the  spell  —  alas  ! 
'T  was  but  a  common  table-cloth, 

And  nothing  came  to  pass. 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  far  away, 
He  sped  with  might  and  main  ; 

"  Your  table-cloth  is  good  for  naught ; 
I  want  my  flour  again ! " 

"  I  have  it  not,"  the  Northwind  growled, 

"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 
I  give  to  you  this  little  goat, 

'T  will  serve  you  well  instead  ; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  tell  him  this  :  — 

'  Make  money !    Master  Bill ! ' 
And  he  will  give  you  golden  coins, 

As  many  as  you  will !  " 

The  lad  received  the  magic-goat, 

With  wonder  and  delight, 
And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 

As  well  indeed  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  the  inn 

Just  half  his  journey  through, 
He  fain  must  show  his  little  goat, 

And  what  the  goat  could  do. 

So  while  he  slept,  the  knavish  host 

Went  slyly  to  the  shed, 
And  stole  the  goat,  —  but  shrewdly  placed 

Another  in  his  stead. 


THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTH  WIND.    257 

Unknowing  what  the  rogue  had  done, 

The  youth  went  on  his  way, 
And  reached  his  weary  journey's  end 

Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  showed  the  dame  his  magic  goat, 

And  told  her  of  his  power  ; 
"  Good  sooth  !  "  he  cried,  "  't  was  well  for  us 

The  Northwind  stole  the  flour  !  " 

"  I  much  misdoubt,"  the  dame  replied, 

"  Your  wondrous  tale  is  true  ; 
'T  is  little  good,  for  hungry  folk, 

Your  silly  goat  can  do  !  " 

"  Good  Master  Bill !  "  the  lad  exclaimed, 

"  Make  money  !  "  —  but,  alas  !  — 
'T  was  nothing  but  a  common  goat, 

And  nothing  came  to  pass ! 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  angrily, 

He  sped  with  might  and  main  ; 
"  Your  foolish  goat  is  good  for  naught ; 

I  want  my  flour  again  I " 

"  I  have  it  not,"  the  Northwind  growled, 

"  Nor  can  I  give  you  aught, 
Except  this  cudgel,  —  which,  indeed, 

A  magic  charm  has  got ; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  tell  it  this  : 

'  My  cudgel !  —  hit  away  ! ' 
And,  till  you  bid  it  stop  again, 

The  cudgel  will  obey  1 " 


258    THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTHWIND. 

Returning  home,  he  stopt  at  night 

Where  he  had  lodged  before  ; 
And  feigning  to  be  fast  asleep, 

He  soon  began  to  snore. 

And  when  the  host  would  steal  the  staff, 

The  sleeper  muttered,  "  Stay, 
I  see  what  you  would  fain  be  at ; 

Good  cudgel  !  —  hit  away !  " 

The  cudgel  thumped  about  his  ears, 

Till  he  began  to  cry, 
"  O  stop  the  staff,  for  mercy's  sake  ! 

Or  I  shall  surely  die  ! " 

But  still  the  cudgel  thumped  away 

Until  the  rascal  said, 
"  I  '11  give  you  back  the  cloth  and  goat, 

O  spare  my  broken  head  ! " 

And  so  it  was  the  lad  reclaimed 

His  table-cloth  and  goat ; 
And,  growing  rich,  at  length  became 

A  man  of  famous  note  ; 

He  kept  his  mother  tenderly, 

And  cheered  her  waning  life  ; 
And  married  —  as  you  may  suppose  — 

A  princess  for  a  wife  ; 

And  while  he  lived,  had  ever  near, 

To  favor  worthy  ends, 
A  cudgel  for  his  enemies, 

And  money  for  his  friends  ! 


THE  BLIND  MEN  AND  THE  ELEPHANT. 


259 


THE   BLIND   MEN   AND  THE   ELEPHANT. 

A  HINDOO   FABLE. 
I. 

IT  was  six  men  of  Indostan 
To  learning  much  inclined, 
Who  went  to  see  the  Elephant 

(Though  all  of  them  were  blind), 
That  each  by  observation 
Might  satisfy  his  mind. 

II. 

The  First  approached  the  Elephant, 

And  happening  to  fall 
Against  his  broad  and  sturdy  side, 

At  once  began  to  bawl : 
"  God  bless  me  !  —  but  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  wall !  " 

in. 
The  Second,  feeling  of  the  tusk, 

Cried  :  "  Ho  !  —  what  have  we  here 
So  very  round  and  smooth  and  sharp  ? 

To  me  't  is  mighty  clear 
This  wonder  of  an  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  spear ! " 

IV. 

The  Third  approached  the  animal, 

And  happening  to  take 
The  squirming  trunk  within  his  hands, 

Thus  boldly  up  and  spake  : 


v  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  snake  ! " 

v. 
The  Fourth  reached  out  his  eager  hand, 

And  felt  about  the  knee. 
"  What  most  this  wondrous  beast  is  like 

Is  mighty  plain,"  quoth  he ; 
"  'T  is  clear  enough  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  tree ! " 

VI. 

The  Fifth,  who  chanced  to  touch  the  ear, 
Said  :  "  E'en  the  blindest  man 

Can  tell  what  this  resembles  most ; 
Deny  the  fact  who  can, 

This  marvel  of  an  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  fan ! " 

VII. 

The  Sixth  no  sooner  had  begun 

About  the  beast  to  grope, 
Than,  seizing  on  the  swinging  tail 

That  fell  within  his  scope, 
"  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  rope !  " 

VIII. 

And  so  these  men  of  Indostan 

Disputed  loud  and  long, 
Each  in  his  own  opinion 

Exceeding  stiff  and  strong, 
Though  each  was  partly  in  the  right, 

And  all  were  in  the  wrong  ! 


THE    TREASURE   OF  GOLD.  26l 

MORAL. 
So,  oft  in  theologic  wars 

The  disputants,  I  ween, 
Rail  on  in  utter  ignorance 

Of  what  each  other  mean, 
And  prate  about  an  Elephant 

Not  one  of  them  has  seen  ! 


THE   TREASURE   OF   GOLD. 

A    LEGEND    OF    ITALY. 
I. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  story,  my  darlings, 
Though  exceedingly  quaint  and  old, 
Is  a  tale  I  have  read  in  Italian, 
Entitled,  The  Treasure  of  Gold. 

II. 
There  lived  near  the  town  of  Bologna 

A  widow  of  virtuous  fame, 
Alone  with  her  only  daughter,  — 

Madonna  LUCREZIA  by  name. 

in. 
A  lady  whom  changing  fortune 

Had  numbered  among  the  poor ; 
And  she  kept  an  inn  by  the  wayside, 

For  the  use  of  peasant  and  boor. 

IV. 

One  day  at  the  door  of  the  tavern 
Three  roving  banditti  appeared, 

And  one  was  a  wily  Venetian, 
To  guess  by  his  curious  beard. 


262  THE    TREASURE   OF  GOLD. 

V. 
And  he  spoke  to  the  waiting  hostess 

In  phrases  exceedingly  fine, 
And  sat  himself  down  with  his  fellows, 

And  called  for  a  flagon  of  wine. 

VI. 

At  length,  after  deeply  discoursing 

In  voices  suspiciously  low, 
The  travellers  rose  from  the  table, 

And  made  preparation  to  go. 

VII. 

"  Madonna ! "  —  up  spoke  the  Venetian,  — 
"  Pray  do  us  the  kindness  to  hold 

Awhile,  for  our  better  convenience, 
This  snug  little  treasure  of  gold." 

VIII. 

"Indeed,"  said  the  smiling  LUCREZIA, 
"  You  're  welcome  to  leave  it,  —  but  stay  ; 

I  have  never  a  lock  in  my  hovel, 
And  the  bag  may  be  stolen  away. 

IX. 

"  Besides,"  said  the  woman,  "  consider, 
There  's  no  one  the  fact  to  attest ; 

In  pledge  for  so  precious  a  treasure 
You  have  only  my  word,  at  the  best." 

x. 

"In  faith  !  "  said  the  civil  Venetian, 
"  We  have  n't  a  morsel  of  fear ; 

But  to  guard  against  awkward  mischances, 
Let  the  matter  in  writing  appear." 


THE    TREASURE   OF  GOLD.  263 

XI. 
And  this  was  a  part  of  .the  writing 

She  gave  the  banditti  to  hold  : 
"  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all 

Will  I  render  the  treasure  of  gold." 

xn. 
Now  the  robbers  were  scarcely  departed, 

When  the  cunning  Venetian  came  back, 
With,  "  Madam,  —  allow  me  the  favor 

Of  putting  my  seal  to  the  sack." 

XIII. 

But  the  moment  she  gave  him  the  treasure, 
A  horseman  rode  up,  and  behold  ! 

While  the  woman  went  out  to  attend  him, 
The  villain  ran  off  with  the  gold ! 

XIV. 

"Alas  !  "  cried  the  widow,  in  anguish, — 

"  Alas  for  my  daughter  forlorn  ; 
I  would  we  had  perished  together, 

The  day  GIANNETTA  was  born ! " 

xv. 
In  sooth,  she  had  reason  for  sorrow, 

Although  it  were  idle  to  weep,  — 
She  was  sued  in  the  court  of  Bologna 

For  the  money  she  promised  to  keep. 

XVI. 

«  Now  go,  GIANNETTA,"  she  faltered, 
"  To  one  that  is  versed  in  the  laws  ; 

But  stop  at  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin, 
And  beg  her  to  favor  our  cause." 


264 


THE    TREASURE   OF  GOLD. 
XVII. 

Alas  !  for  Madonna  LUCREZIA  ! 

In  vain  GIANNETTA  applied 
To  each  lawyer  of  note  in  the  city ; 

They  were  all  on  the  opposite  side ! 

XVIII. 

At  last,  as  the  sorrowing  maiden, 
Sat  pondering'her  misery  over, 

And  breathing  a  prayer  to  the  Virgin, 
She  thought  of  LORENZO,  her  lover ; 

XIX. 

A  student  well  read  in  the  statutes, 
According  to  common  report, 

But  one  who,  from  modest  aversion, 
Had  never  appeared  in  the  court. 

xx. 

"  I  '11  try ! "  said  the  faithful  LORENZO, 
After  hearing  her  narrative  through, 

"  And  for  strength  in  the  hour  of  trial, 
I  '11  think,  GIANNETTA,  of  you ! " 

XXI. 
Next  morning  the  judges  assembled  ; 

The  claimants'  attorneys  were  heard, 
And  gave  a  most  plausible  version 

Of  how  the  transaction  occurred  ; 

XXII. 

Then  showed,  by  the  widow's  confession, 
She  had  taken  the  money  to  hold, 

And  proved  that,  though  often  requested, 
She  failed  to  surrender  the  gold. 


THE    TREASURE   OF  GOLD.  265 

XXIII. 

The  judges  seemed  fairly  impatient 

To  utter  the  fatal  decree, 
When,  lo !  the  young  student  LORENZO 

Stands  up,  and  commences  a  plea :  — 

XXIV. 

"Your  Honors  !  —  I  speak  for  the  widow  ; 

Some  words  have  been  (carelessly)  said 
Concerning  a  written  agreement,  — 

I  ask  that  the  writing  be  read  ! " 

XXV. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Court,  "it  is  proper 

The  writing  appear  in  the  case  ; 
The  sense  of  a  written  agreement 

May  give  it  a  different  face." 

XXVI. 

"  Observe,"  said  the  student,  "  the  bargain 

To  which  we  are  willing  to  hold, — 
'  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all, 

Will  I  render  the  treasure  of  gold  ! ' 

XXVII. 

"  We  stand  by  the  writing,  your  Honors, 

And  candidly  ask  of  you  whether 
These  fellows  can  sue  for  their  money 

Till  they  come  and  demand  it  together  ?  " 

XXVIII. 

And  so  it  was  presently  settled, 

For  so  did  the  judges  decide  ; 
And  great  was  the  joy  of  the  widow, 

And  great  was  her  daughter's  pride. 


266     THE  NOBLEMAN,    THE  FISHERMAN, 
XXIX. 

And  fast  grew  the  fame  of  Lorenzo, 
For  making  so  clever  a  plea, 

Till  never  in  all  Bologna 

Was  lawyer  so  wealthy  as  he. 

XXX. 

And  he  married  his  own  Giannetta, 
As  the  story  is  pleasingly  told  ; 

And  such  were  the  bane  and  the  blessing 
That  came  of  the  Treasure  of  Gold ! 


THE    NOBLEMAN,   THE    FISHERMAN,  AND 
THE    PORTER. 

AN     ITALIAN     LEGEND. 
I. 

IT  was  a  famous  nobleman 
Who  flourished  in  the  East, 
And  once,  upon  a  holiday, 
He  made  a  goodly  feast, 
And  summoned  in  of  kith  and  kin 
A  hundred  at  the  least. 

II. 

Now  while  they  sat  in  social  chat 

Discoursing  frank  and  free, 
In  came  the  steward,  with  a  bow, 

"  A  man  below,"  said  he, 
"  Has  got,  my  lord,  the  finest  fish 

That  ever  swam  the  sea  !  " 


AND   THE  PORTER.  267 

in. 
"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  the  nobleman, 

"  Then  buy  it  in  a  trice  ; 
The  finest  fish  that  ever  swam 

Must  needs  be  very  nice  ; 
Go,  buy  it  of  the  fisherman, 

And  never  mind  the  price." 

IV. 

"  And  so  I  would,"  the  steward  said, 

"  But,  faith,  he  would  n't  hear 
A  word  of  money  for  his  fish, 

(Was  ever  man  so  queer  ?) 
But  said  he  thought  a  hundred  stripes 

Could  not  be  counted  dear  !  " 

v. 
"  Go  bring  him  here,"  my  lord  replied  ; 

"  The  man  I  fain  would  see  ; 
A  merry  wag,  by  your  report, 

This  fisherman  must  be  !  " 
"  Go  bring  him  here  !     Go  bring  him  here  !  " 

Cried  all  the  company. 

VI. 

The  steward  did  as  he  was  bid, 

When  thus  my  lord  began  : 
"  For  this  fine  fish  what  may  you  wish  ? 

I  '11  buy  it,  if  I  can." 
"  One  hundred  lashes  on  my  back  !  " 

Exclaimed  the  fisherman. 

VII. 

"  Now,  by  the  rood  !  but  this  is  good," 
The  laughing  lord  replied  ; 


2 68  NOBLEMAN,  FISHERMAN,  AND  PORTER. 

"  Well,  let  the  fellow  have  his  way ; 

Go,  call  a  groom  !  "  he  cried ; 
"  But  let  the  payment  he  demands 

Be  modestly  applied." 

VIII. 

He  bared  his  back  and  took  the  lash 

As  it  were  merry  play  ; 
But  at  the  fiftieth  stroke,  he  said, 

"  Good  master  groom,  I  pray 
Desist  a  moment,  if  you  please  ; 

I  have  a  word  to  say. 

IX. 

"  I  have  a  partner  in  the  case,  — 

The  fellow  standing  there  ; 
Pray  take  the  jacket  off  his  back, 

And  let  him  have  his  share ; 
That  one  of  us  should  take  the  whole 

Were  surely  hardly  fair  ! " 

x. 

"  A  partner  ?  "  cried  the  nobleman, 
"  Who  can  the  fellow  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  replied  the  fisherman, 
With  countenance  serene, 

"  Your  porter  there .'  —  the  biggest  knave 
That  ever  yet  was  seen  ! 

XI. 

"  The  rogue  who  stopped  me  at  the  gate, 

And  would  n't  let  me  in 
Until  I  swore  to  give  him  half 

Of  all  my  fish  should  win  ; 
I  ''ve  got  my  share  !  —  Pray  let,  my  lord, 

His  payment  now  begin  ! " 


THE  DERl'IS  AND   THE  KING.          269 
XII. 

"  What  you  propose,"  my  lord  replied, 

"Is  nothing  more  than  fair  ; 
Here,  groom,  —  lay  on  a  hundred  stripes, 

And  mind  you  do  not  spare  ; 
The  scurvy  dog  shall  never  say 

He  did  n't  get  his  share !" 

XIII. 

Then  all  that  goodly  company, 

They  laughed  with  might  and  main, 

The  while  beneath  the  stinging  lash 
The  porter  writhed  in  pain. 

"So  fare  all  villains,"  quoth  my  lord, 
"Who  seek  dishonest  gain  !  " 

XIV. 

Then,  turning  to  the  fisherman, 

Who  still  was  standing  near, 
He  filled  his  hand  with  golden  coins, 

Some  twenty  sequins  clear, 
And  bade  him  come  and  take  the  like 

On  each  succeeding  year. 


THE   DERVIS   AND    THE    KING. 

A  TURKISH  TALE. 

A    PIOUS  Dervis,  once  upon  a  time, 
**•     Of  all  his  sect  the  wisest  and  the  best, 
Journeyed,  on  foot,  through  many  a  foreign  clime, 
To  serve  his  Master  in  some  holy  quest. 


270 


THE  DERVIS  AND    THE  KING. 


And  so  it  chanced  that  on  a  certain  day, 
While  plodding  wearily  along  the  road, 

He  saw  before  him,  near  the  public  way, 
The  house  wherein  the  Tartar  King  abode. 

Musing  the  while  on  some  absorbing  thought 
That  quite  engrossed  the  pious  pilgrim's  mind, 

The  palace  seemed — just  what  the  Dervis  sought  — 
A  Caravansary  of  the  better  kind. 

Entering  the  palace  by  an  open  door, 
Straight  to  the  gallery  the  Dervis  goes, 

Lays  down  his  meagre  wallet  on  the  floor, 
And  spreads  his  blanket  for  a  night's  repose. 

It  chanced  the  King,  soon  after,  passing  by, 
Observed  the  man,  and  with  an  angry  air, 

As  one  who  sees  a  robber  or  a  spy, 

Bade  him  avow  what  business  brought  him  there. 

"  My  business  here,"  the  Dervis  meekly  said, 
"Is  but  to  rest,  as  any  traveller  might ; 

In  this  good  tavern  I  have  made  my  bed, 
And  here  I  mean  to  tarry  for  the  night." 

"  A  Caravansary  —  eh  ?  "  the  King  exclaimed 
(His  visage  mantling  with  a  royal  grin), 

"  Now  look  around  you,  man,  and  be  ashamed  ! 
How  could  you  take  my  palace  for  an  inn  ? " 

"  Sire  !  "  said  the  Dervis  (seeing  his  mistake), 

"  I  purpose  presently  to  answer  this  ; 
But  grant  me,  first,  the  liberty  to  make 

Some  brief  inquiries,  if  't  is  not  amiss. 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.     2yi 

"  Pray  tell  me,  Sire,  who  first  resided  here?" 
"  My  ancestors,  —  as  the  tradition  goes." 

"  Who  next  ? "  "  My  father,  —  that  is  very  clear." 
"  Who  next  ?  "   "  Myself,  —  as  everybody  knows." 

"  And  who  —  Heaven  grant  you  many  years  to  reign  — 
Will  occupy  the  house  when  you  have  done?" 

"  Why,"  said  the  monarch  —  "  that  is  very  plain  — 
Of  course  't  will  be  the  Prince,  my  only  son ! " 

"Sire,"  said  the  Dervis,  gravely,  "  I  protest, — 
Whate'er  the  building  you  may  choose  to  call,  — 

A  house  that  knows  so  many  a  transient  guest, 
Is  but  a  Caravansary,  after  all !  " 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

AN   ORIENTAL  LEGEND. 
I. 

IT  was  a  merry  monarch 
Who  ruled  a  distant  land, 
And  ever,  for  his  pastime, 

Some  new  device  he  planned, 
And  once,  to  all  his  servants, 
He  gave  this  queer  command. 

II. 

Quoth  he  :  "  To  every  stranger 
Who  comes  unto  my  court 

Let  a  fried  fish  be  given, 
And  of  the  finest  sort ; 


272     THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

Then  mark  the  man's  behavior, 
And  bring  me  due  report. 

III. 
"  If,  when  the  man  has  eaten 

The  fish  unto  the  bone, 
The  glutton  turns  it  over,  — 

Then,  by  my  royal  throne, 
For  this,  his  misdemeanor, 

The  gallows  shall  atone  ! " 

IV. 
Now  when  this  regal  mandate, 

According  to  report, 
Had  slain  a  score  of  strangers, 

To  serve  the  monarch's  sport, 
It  chanced  a  gay  young  Marquis 

Came  to  the  royal  court 

v. 

His  majesty  received  him 

As  suited  with  his  state, 
But  when  he  sat  at  dinner, 

The  fish  was  on  the  plate ; 
Alas  !  he  turns  it  over, 

Unconscious  of  his  fate. 

VI. 

Then,  to  his  dire  amazement, 
Three  guardsmen,  standing  nigh, 

Conveyed  him  straight  to  prison, 
And  plainly  told  him  why,  — 

And  how,  in  retribution, 

That  he  was  doomed  to  die ! 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.     273 
VII. 

The  Marquis,  filled  with  sorrow, 
Implored  the  monarch's  ruth, 

Whereat  the  King  relented, 
(A  gracious  deed,  in  sooth  !) 

And  granted  these  conditions, 
In  pity  of  his  youth  :  — 


VIII. 

That  for  three  days  the  culprit 
Should  have  the  King's  reprieve ; 

Also,  to  name  three  wishes 
The  prisoner  had  leave,  — 

One  each  succeeding  morning,  — 
The  which  he  should  receive. 


IX. 

"  Thanks  !  "  said  the  grateful  Marquis, 

"  His  Majesty  is  kind  ; 
And,  first,  to  wed  his  daughter 

Is  what  I  have  in  mind  ; 
Go,  bid  him  fetch  a  parson 

The  holy  tie  to  bind." 


x. 

Now  when  the  merry  monarch 
This  bold  demand  had  heard, 

With  grief  and  indignation 
His  royal  breast  was  stirred  ; 

But  he  had  pledged  his  honor, 
And  so  he  kept  his  word. 


274     THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

XI. 

Now,  if  the  first  petition 
He  reckoned  rather  bold, 

What  was  the  King's  amazement 
To  hear  the  second  told,  — 

To  wit,  the  monarch's  treasure 
Of  silver  and  of  gold  ! 

XII. 

To  beg  the  culprit's  mercy 
This  mighty  King  was  fain  ; 

But  pleading  and  remonstrance 
Were  uttered  all  in  vain  ; 

And  so  he  gave  the  treasure 
It  cost  him  years  to  gain. 

XIII. 

Sure  ne'er  was  mortal  monarch 

In  such  dismay  as  he  ! 
He  woke  next  morning  early 

And  went  himself  to  see 
What,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 

The  third  demand  would  be  ! 


XIV. 

"  I  ask,"  replied  the  Marquis, 
("  My  third  and  final  wish), 

That  you  should  call  the  servants 
Who  served  the  fatal  dish, 

And  have  the  eyes  extinguished 
That  saw  me  turn  the  fish." 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.     275 

XV. 
"  Good  !  "  said  the  monarch  gayly, 

With  obvious  delight, 
"  What  you  demand,  Sir  Marquis, 

Is  reasonable  —  quite  ; 
That  they  should  pay  this  forfeit 

Is  nothing  more  than  right. 


XVI. 

"  How  was  it, —  Mr.  Chamberlain  ?" 

But  he  at  once  denied 
That  he  had  seen  the  culprit 

Turn  up  the  other  side  ; 
"  It  must  have  been  the  Steward," 

The  Chamberlain  replied. 

XVII. 

"  Indeed  ! "  exclaimed  the  Steward, 

"It  surely  wasn't  I  ! 
It  must  have  been  the  Butler  "  — 

Who  quickly  made  reply, 
"It  must  have  been  the  guardsmen, 

Unless  the  fellows  lie  !  " 


XVIII. 

But  they,  in  turn,  protested, 
With  plausible  surprise, 

(And  dreadful  imprecations, 
If  they  were  telling  lies  !) 

That  nothing  of  the  matter 
Had  come  before  their  eyes  ! 


276       THE   CALIPH  AND   THE   CRIPPLE. 

XIX. 
"  Good  Father,"  said  the  Princess, 

"  I  pray  you  ponder  this," 
(And  here  she  gave  the  monarch 

A  reverential  kiss,) 
"  My  husband  must  be  guiltless, 

If  none  saw  aught  amiss  ! " 

xx. 

The  monarch  frowned  a  little, 
And  gravely  shook  his  head  : 

"  Your  Marquis  should  be  punished  ; 
Well, —  let  him  live,"  he  said, 

"  For  though  he  cheats  the  gallows, 
The  man,  at  least,  is  wed  ! " 


THE   CALIPH   AND    THE   CRIPPLE. 

AN   ARABIAN   TALE. 

HE  Caliph,  Ben  Akas,  whose  surname  was  "Wise," 
-*-       From  the  wisdom  and  wit  he  displayed, 
One  morning  rode  forth  in  a  merchant's  disguise 
To  see  how  his  laws  were  obeyed. 

While  riding  along,  in  a  leisurely  way, 

A  beggar  came  up  to  his  side, 
And  said,  "In  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  I  pray 

You  '11  give  a  poor  cripple  a  ride." 

Ben  Akas,  amazed  at  the  mendicant's  prayer, 

Asked  where  he  was  wishing  to  go. 
"  I  'm  going,"  he  said,  "  to  the  neighboring  fair  ; 

But  my  crutches  are  wretchedly  slow." 


THE   CALIPH  AND    THE   CRIPPLE.       277 

"  Get  up  !  "  said  the  Caliph  ;  "  a  saddle  like  this 

Is  hardly  sufficient  for  two  ; 
And  yet,  by  the  Prophet  !  —  't  were  greatly  amiss 

To  snub  a  poor  cripple  like  you  !  " 

The  beggar  got  up,  and  together  they  rode 
Till  they  came  to  the  neighboring  town, 

When,  hard  by  the  house  where  the  Cadi  abode, 
He  bade  his  companion  get  down. 

"  Nay,  get  down  yourself !  "  was  the  fellow's  reply, 

Without  the  least  shame  or  remorse. 
"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  Caliph,  "  and  pray  tell  me  why  ?  " 

Ouoth  the  beggar,  "  To  give  me  the  horse  ! 

"  You  know  very  well  that  the  nag  is  my  own  ; 

And  if  you  resort  to  the  laws, 
You  do  not  imagine  your  story  alone 

Sufficient  to  carry  the  cause  ? 

"The  Cadi  is  reckoned  the  wisest  of  men, 

And,  looking  at  you  and  at  me, 
After  hearing  us  both,  't  is  an  hundred  to  ten 

The  cripple  will  get  the  decree." 

"  Very  well  !  "  said  Ben  Akas,  —  astonished  to  hear 

The  impudent  fellow's  discourse,  — 
"If  the  Cadi  is  wise,  there  is  little  to  fear 

But  I  soon  shall  recover  my  horse." 

"  Agreed  ! "  said  the  beggar  ;  "  whate'er  the  decree, 

The  verdict  shall  find  me  content." 
"  As  to  that."  said  the  other,  "  we  '11  presently  see." 

And  so  to  the  Cadi  they  went. 


278       THE   CALIPH  AND    THE   CRIPPLE.  . 

It  chanced  that  a  cause  was  engrossing  the  Cadi, 
Where  a  woman  occasioned  the  strife  ; 

And  both  parties  claimed  the  identical  lady 
As  being  his  own  lawful  wife. 

The  one  was  a  peasant ;  a  scholar  the  other ; 

And  each  made  a  speech  in  his  turn  ; 
But,  what  was  a  very  particular  pother, 

The  woman  refused  to  be  sworn. 

"  Enough  for  the  present  !  "  the  Cadi  declared, 
"  Come  back  in  the  morning,"  said  he  ; 

"  And  now  "  (to  Ben  Akas)  "  the  Court  is  prepared 
To  hear  what  your  grievance  may  be  !  " 

Ben  Akas  no  so'oner  the  truth  had  narrated, 

When  the  beggar  as  coolly  replies  : 
"  I  swear,  by  the  Prophet !  the  fellow  has  stated 

A  parcel  of  impudent  lies  ! 

"  I  was  coming  to  market,  and  when  I  descried 

A  man  by  the  wayside  alone, 
Looking  weary  and  faint,  why,  I  gave  him  a  ride  ; 

Now  he  swears  that  the  horse  is  his  own  ! " 

"  Very  well,"   said  the  Judge,  "  let  us  go  to  the  stable, 

And  each  shall  select  in  his  turn." 
Ben  Akas  went  first,  and  was  easily  able 

His  favorite  steed  to  discern. 

The  cripple  went  next ;  though  the  stable  was  full, 

The  true  one  was  instantly  shown. 
"  Your  Honor,"  said  he,  "  did  you  think  me  so  dull 

That  I  could  n't  distinguish  my  own  ?  " 


THE   CALIPH  AND    THE   CRIPPLE.      279 

Next  morning  the  Cadi  came  into  the  court, 

And  sat  himself  down  at  his  ease ; 
And  thither  the  suitors  and  people  resort 

To  list  to  the  Judge's  decrees. 

First  calling  the  scholar,  who  sued  for  his  spouse, 

His  Honor  thus  settled  the  doubt : 
"  The  woman  is  yours  ;  take  her  home  to  your  house, 

And  don't  let  her  often  go  out." 

Then  calling  before  him  Ben  Akas,  whose  cause 

Stood  next  in  the  calendar's  course, 
He  said  :   "  By  the  Prophet's  inflexible  laws, 

Let  the  merchant  recover  his  horse  ! 

"  And  as  for  the  beggar,  I  further  decide 

His  villany  fairly  has  earned 
A  good  hundred  lashes  well  laid  on  his  hide  ; 

Meshallah  !    The  court  is  adjourned  !  " 

Ben  Akas  that  night  sought  the  Cadi's  abode, 

And  said  :   "  'Tis  the  Caliph  you  see  ! 
Though  hither,  indeed,  as  a  merchant  I  rode, 

I  am  Abou  Ben  Akas  to  thee ! " 

The  Cadi,  abashed,  made  the  lowest  of  bows, 

And,  kissing  his  majesty's  hand, 
Cried  :   "  Great  is  the  honor  you  do  to  my  house  ; 

I  wait  for  your  royal  command  !  " 

"  I  fain  would  possess,"  was  the  Caliph's  reply, 

"  Your  wisdom  ;  so  tell  me,  I  pray, 
How  your  Honor  discovered  where  justice  might  lie 

In  the  causes  decided  to-day." 


28o       THE   CALIPH  AND    THE   CRIPPLE. 

"  Why,  as  to  the  woman,"  the  Cadi  replied, 

"  It  was  easily  settled,  I  think  ; 
Just  taking  the  lady  a  moment  aside, 

I  said,  '  Fill  my  standish  with  ink.' 

"  And  quick,  at  the  order,  the  bottle  was  taken, 

With  a  dainty  and  dexterous  hold  ; 
The  standish  was  washed  ;  the  fluid  was  shaken ; 

New  cotton  put  in  for  the  old  — 

"  I  see  ! "  said  the  Caliph  ;  "  the  story  is  pleasant ; 

Of  course  it  was  easy  to  tell 
The  scholar  swore  truly,  —  the  spouse  "of  a  peasant 

Could  never  have  done  it  so  well. 

"  And  now  for  the  horse  ?  "     "  That  was  harder,  Town, 

For,  mark  you,  the  beggarly  elf 
(However  the  rascal  may  chance  to  have  known) 

Knew  the  palfrey  as  well  as  yourself ! 

"  But  the  truth  was  apparent,  the  moment  I  learned 

What  the  animal  thought  of  the  two  ; 
The  impudent  cripple  he  savagely  spurned, 

But  was  plainly  delighted  with  you  !  " 

Ben  Akas  sat  musing  and  silent  awhile, 

As  one  whom  devotion  employs  ; 
Then,  raising  his  head  with  a  heavenly  smile, 

He  said,  in  a  reverent  voice  :  — 

"  Sure  Allah  is  good  and  abundant  in  grace  ! 

Thy  wisdom  is  greater  than  mine  ; 
I  would  that  the  Caliph  might  rule  in  his  place 

As  well  as  thou  servest  in  thine  !  " 


THE   UGLY  AUNT.  28 1 

THE    UGLY  AUNT.* 

A  NORWEGIAN   TALE. 
I. 

7  T  was  a  little  maiden 

-*-      Lived  long  and  long  ago, 

(Though  when  it  was,  and  where  it  was, 

I  'm  sure  I  do  not  know,) 
And  her  face  was  all  the  fortune 

This  maiden  had  to  show. 

II. 

And  yet,  —  what  many  people 

Will  think  extremely  rare 
In  one  who,  like  this  maiden, 

Ne'er  knew  a  mother's  care,  — 
The  neighbors  all  asserted 

That  she  was  good  as  fair. 

in. 
"  Alack  !  "  exclaimed  the  damsel, 

While  bitter  tears  she  shed, 
"  I  'm  little  skilled  to  labor, 

And  yet  I  must  be  fed  ; . 
I  fain  by  daily  service 

Would  earn  my  daily  bread." 

IV. 

And  so  she  sought  a  palace, 

Where  dwelt  a  mighty  queen, 
And  when  the  royal  lady 

The  little  maid  had  seen, 


282  THE   UGL  Y  A  UNT. 

She  loved  her  for  her  beauty, 
Despite  her  lowly  mien. 

v. 
Not  long  she  served  her  majesty 

Ere  jealousy  arose 
(Because  she  was  the  favorite, 

As  you  may  well  suppose), 
And  all  the  other  servants 

Became  her  bitter  foes. 

VI. 

And  so  these  false  companions, 

In  envy  of  her  face, 
Contrived  a  wicked  stratagem 

To  bring  her  to  disgrace, 
And  fill  her  soul  with  sorrow, 

And  rob  her  of  her  place. 

VII. 
They  told  her  royal  majesty 

(Most  arrant  liars  they  !) 
That  often,  in  their  gossiping, 

They  'd  heard  the  maiden  say 
That  she  could  spin  a  pound  of  flax 

All  in  a  single  day ! 

VIII. 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  her  majesty, 
"  I  'm  fond  of  spinning,  too  ; 

So  come,  my  little  maiden, 
And  make  your  boasting  true  : 

Or  else  your  foolish  vanity 
You  presently  may  rue  ! " 


THE   UGLY  AUNT.  283 

IX. 
Alas  !  the  hapless  damsel 

Was  now  afflicted  sore, 
No  mother  e'er  had  taught  her 

In  such  ingenious  lore  ; 
A  spinning-wheel,  in  all  her  life, 

She  ne'er  had  seen  before  1 


x. 

But  fearing  much  to  tell  the  queen 

How  she  had  been  belied, 
She  tried  to  spin  upon  the  wheel, 

And  still  in  vain  she  tried  ; 
And  so  —  't  was  all  that  she  could  do  — 

She  sat  her  down  and  cried. 


XI. 

Now  while  she  thus  laments  her  fate 

In  sorrow  deep  and  wild, 
A  beldam  stands  before  her  view, 

And  says,  in  accents  mild  : 
"  What  ails  thee  now,  my  pretty  one, 

Say,  what 's  the  matter,  child  ?  " 

XII. 

Soon  as  she  heard  the  piteous  case, 
"  Cheer  up  !  "  the  beldam  said, 

"  I  '11  spin  for  thee  the  pound  of  flax, 
And  thou  shalt  go  to  bed, 

If  only  thou  wilt  call  me  '  aunt,' 
The  day  that  thou  art  wed  !  " 


284  THE   UGLY  AUNT. 

XIII. 
The  maiden  promised  true  and  fair, 

And  when  the  day  was  done, 
The  queen  went  in  to  see  the  task, 

And  found  it  fairly  spun. 
Quoth  she,  "  I  love  thee  passing  well, 

And  thou  shall  wed  my  son  ! 

XIV. 

"  For  one  who  spins  so  well  as  thee 
(In  sooth  !  't  is  wondrous  fine  !) 

With  beauty,  too,  so  very  rare, 
And  goodness  such  as  thine, 

Should  be  the  daughter  of  a  queen, 
And  I  will  have  thee  mine  ! " 


xv. 

Now  when  the  wedding-day  had  come, 
And,  decked  in  royal  pride, 

Around  the  smoking  table  sat 
The  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 

With  all  the  royal  kinsfolk, 
And  many  guests  beside, 

XVI. 

In  came  a  beldam,  with  a  frisk  ; 

Was  ever  dame  so  bold  ? 
Or  one  so  lean  and  wrinkled, 

So  ugly  and  so  old, 
Or  with  a  nose  so  very  long 

And  shocking  to  behold  ? 


THE   UGLY  AUNT,  285 

XVII. 
Now  while  they  sat  in  wonderment 

This  curious  dame  to  see, 
She  said  unto  the  Princess, 

As  bold  as  bold  could  be  : 
"  Good  morrow,  gentle  lady  !  " 

"  Good  morrow,  Aunt !  "  quoth  she. 

XVIII. 

The  Prince  with  gay  demeanor, 

But  with  an  inward  groan, 
Then  bade  her  sit  at  table, 

And  said,  in  friendly  tone, 
"If  you  're  my  bride's  relation, 

Why  then,  you  are  my  own  !  " 


XIX. 

When  dinner  now  was  ended, 

As  you  may  well  suppose, 
The  Prince  still  thought  about  his  Aunt, 

And  still  his  wonder  rose 
Where  could  the  ugly  beldam 

Have  got  so  long  a  nose  ! 

XX. 

At  last  he  plainly  asked  her, 

Before  that  merry  throng, 
And  she  as  plainly  answered 

(Nor  deemed  his  freedom  wrong) : 
"  'T  was  spinning,  in  my  girlhood, 

That  made  my  nose  so  long  !  " 


286  THE    THREE   GIFTS. 

XXI. 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  his  Highness, 
And  then  and  there  he  swore  : 

"  Though  spinning  made  me  husband 
To  her  whom  I  adore, 

Lest  she  should  spoil  her  beauty, 
Why,  she  shall  spin  no  more  ! " 


THE    THREE    GIFTS. 

A  TALE  OF  NORTH  GERMANY. 

r~PHREE  gentlemen  mounted  their  horses  one  day, 
•*-       And  far  in  the  country  they  rode, 
Till  they  came  to  a  cottage,  that  stood  by  the  way, 
Where  an  honest  old  weaver  abode. 

This  honest  old  weaver  was  wretchedly  poor, 

Yet  he  never  was  surly  nor  sad  ; 
He  welcomed  the  travellers  into  his  door, 

And  gave  them  the  best  that  he  had. 

They  ate  and  they  drank,  till  the  weaver  began 

To  fear  that  they  never  would  cease  ; 
But  when  they  had  finished,  they  gave  to  the  man 

A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 

Then  the  gentlemen  mounted  their  horses  again, 
And,  bidding  the  weaver  "  Good  night," 

Went  dashing  away  over  valley  and  plain, 
And  were  presently  lost  to  his  sight. 


THE    THREE   GIFTS.  28; 

Sure  never  was  weaver  so  happy  before, 

And  never  seemed  guineas  so  bright ; 
He  counted  the  pieces  a  hundred  times  o'er, 

With  more  than  a  miser's  delight. 

Then  snug  in  some  rags  he  hid  them  away, 

As  if  he  had  got  them  by  stealth,  — 
Lest  his  meddlesome  wife,  who  was  absent  that  day, 

Should  know  of  his  wonderful  wealth. 

Soon  after,  a  travelling  rag-dealer  came, 

The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 
And  with  them  (the  woman  was  little  to  blame) 

The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold. 

When  a  calendar  year  had  vanished  and  fled, 

Th£  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"  Now  how  does  it  happen,"  they  moodily  said, 

"  We  find  you  so  wretchedly  poor  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  weaver,  "  this  many  a  day 

The  money  is  missing,  in  sooth  ; 
In  a  bundle  of  rags  it  was  hidden  away, 

('Fore  God  !  I  am  telling  the  truth.) 

"  But  once,  in  my  absence,  a  rag-'dealer  came, 

The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 
And  with  them  (the  woman  was  surely  to  blame) 

The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold." 

"It  was  foolishly  done,"  the  gentlemen  swore  ; 

"  Now,  prithee,  be  careful  of  these." 
And  they  gave  him  again,  the  same  as  before, 

A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 


288  THE    THREE   GIFTS. 

Then  the  gentlemen  mounted  their  horses  again, 
And,  bidding  the  weaver  "  Good  night," 

Went  dashing  away  over  valley  and  plain, 
And  were  presently  lost  to  his  sight. 

"  I'  faith,"  said  the  weaver,  "  no  wonder  they  chid  ; 

But  now  I  am  wiser,  I  trust." 
So  the  three  hundred  guineas  he  carefully  hid 

Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust. 

But  soon,  in  his  absence,  a  dustman  came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold  ; 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  little  to  blame) 

The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold. 

When  a  calendar  year  had  vanished  and  fled, 

The  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"  Now  how  does  it  happen,"  they  angrily  said, 

"  We  find  you  so  wretchedly  poor  ? " 

"  Was  ever,  he  cried,  "  so  luckless  a  wight  ? 

As  surely  as  Heaven  is  just, 
The  money  I  hid  from  my  spouse's  sight 

Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust  ; 

"  But  when  I  was  absent  the  dustman  came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold, 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  surely  to  blame) 

The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold." 

"  Take  that  for  your  folly !  "  the  gentlemen  said  ; 

"  Was  ever  so  silly  a  wight  ?  " 
And  they  tossed  on  the  table  a  lump  of  lead, 

And  were  presently  out  of  his  sight. 


THE    THREE   GIFTS.  289 

"  'T  is  plain,"  said  the  weaver,  "  they  meant  to  flout, 

And  little  I  marvel ;  alas  !  — 
My  wife  is  a  fool ;  and  there  is  n't  a  doubt 

That  I  am  an  arrant  ass  !  " 

While  thus  he  was  musing  in  sorrow  and  shame, 

And  wishing  that  he  were  dead, 
Into  his  cottage  a  fisherman  came 

To  borrow  a  lump  of  lead. 

"  Ah  !  here,"  he  cried,  "  is  the  thing  I  wish 

To  mend  my  broken  net ; 
Will  you  give  it  me  for  the  finest  fish 

That  I  this  day  may  get  ?  "  , 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  the  weaver  replies  ; 

And  so  the  fisherman  brought 
That  night  a  fish  of  wondrous  size, — 

The  finest  that  he  had  caught. 

He  opened  the  fish,  when  lo  and  behold  ! 

He  found  a  precious  stone  ; 
A  diamond  large  as  the  lead  he  sold, 

And  bright  as  the  morning  sun  ! 

For  a  thousand  guineas  the  stone  he  sold 

(It  was  worth  a  hundred  more), 
And  never,  't  is  said,  in  bliss  or  gold, 

Was  weaver  so  rich  before  ! 

But  often  —  to  keep  her  sway,  no  doubt, 

As  a  genuine  woman  must  — 
The  wife  would  say,  "  /  brought  it  about 

By  selling  the  rags  and  dust !  " 

13  s 


290  THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

THE   WIFE'S   REVENGE. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH. 
I. 

CE  on  a  time  "  there  flourished  in  Madrid 
A  painter,  clever,  and  the  pet  of  Fame, 
Don  Josd,  —  but  the  rest  were  better  hid  ; 

So  please  accept  the  simple  Christian  name,  — 
Only,  to  keep  my  verse  from  being  prosy, 
Pray  mind  your  Spanish,  and  pronounce  it,  Hozy  ! 

II. 
Don  Josd,  —  who,  it  seems,  had  lately  won 

Much  praise  and  cash,  —  to  crown  a  lucky  week, 
Resolved  for  once  to  have  a  little  fun, 

To  ease  him  of  his  easel,  —  so  to  speak,  — 
And  so,  in  honor  of  his  limning  labors, 
He  gave  a  party  to  his  artist-neighbors. 

in. 
A  strange  affair  ;  for  not  a  woman  came 

To  grace  the  table  ;  e'en  the  painter's  spouse, 
Donna  Casilda,  a  most  worthy  dame, 

Was,  rather  roughly,  told  to  quit  the  house, 
And  go  and  gossip,  for  the  evening,  down 
Among  her  cousins  in  the  lower  town. 

IV. 

The  lady  went ;  but  presently  came  back, 
For  mirth  or  mischief,  with  a  jolly  cousin, 

And  sought  a  closet,  where  an  ample  crack 
Revealed  the  revellers,  sitting,  by  the  dozen, 


THE    WIFE'S  RE  FENCE. 


291 


Discussing  wine  and  —  Art? — No,  "women  folks!" 
In  senseless  satire  and  indecent  jokes. 

v. 
"  Women  ? "  said  Jose,  "  what  do  women  know 

Of  poetry  or  painting  ? "  ("  Hear  him  talk !  " 
Whispered  the  list'ners.)    "  When  did  woman  show 

A  ray  of  genius  in  the  higher  walk 
Of  either  ?    No  ;  to  them  the  gods  impart 
Arts,  —  quite  enough,  —  but  deuce  a  bit  of  Art !  " 

VI. 

("Wretch!"  cried  the  ladies.)     "Yes,"  said  Jose",  "take 
Away  from  women  love-intrigues  and  all 

The  cheap  disguises  they  are  wont  to  make 

To  hide  their  spots,  —  they  'd  sing  extremely  small ! " 

("  Fool!"  said  his  spouse,  "we'll  settle,  by  and  by, 

Who  sings  the  smallest,  villain  !  —  you  or  I  !  ") 

VII. 

To  make  the  matter  worse,  the  jovial  guests 

Were  duly  mindful  not  to  be  exceeded 
In  coarse  allusions  and  unsavory  jests, 

But  — •  following  Jose"  —  talked,  of  course,  as  he  did  ; 
I  've  been,  myself,  to  many  a  bachelor-party, 
And  found  them,  mainly,  less  refined  than  hearty. 

VIII. 

The  party  over,  full  of  inward  ire, 

Casilda  plotted,  silently  and  long, 
Some  fitting  vengeance.     Women  seldom  tire 

In  their  resentments,  whether  right  or  wrong  : 
In  classic  authors  we  are  often  warned 
There  's  naught  so  savage  as  a  "  woman  scorned." 


292  THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

IX. 
Besides,  Casilda,  be  it  known,  had  much 

Of  what  the  French  applaud,  —  and  not  amiss,  - 
As  savoir-faire  (I  do  not  know  the  Dutch) ; 

The  literal  Germans  call  it  Mutteriviss, 
The  Yankees  gumption,  and  the  Grecians  nous,  — 
A  useful  thing  to  have  about  the  house. 


At  length  the  lady  hit  upon  a  plan 

Worthy  of  Hermes  for  its  deep  disguise  ; 

She  got  a  carpenter,  —  a  trusty  man,  — 
To  make  a  door,  and  of  a  certain  size, 

With  curious  carvings  and  heraldic  bands, 

And  bade  him  wait  her  ladyship's  commands. 


XI. 

Then  falling  sick,  —  as  gentle  ladies  know 
The  ready  art,  unless  romances  lie,  — 

She  groaned  aloud,  and  bade  Don  Jose"  go, 
And  quickly,  too,  —  or  she  should  surely  die,  — 

And  fetch  her  nurse,  —  a  woman  who  abode 

Some  three  miles  distant  by  the  nearest  road. 


xn. 

With  many  a  frown  and  many  a  bitter  curse 
He  heard  the  summons.     'T  was  a  pretty  hour, 

He  said,  to  go  a-gadding  for  a  nurse  ! 

At  twelve  at  night !  —  and  in  a  drenching  shower ! 

He  'd  never  go,  —  unless  the  devil  sent,  — 

And  then  Don  Jose*  took  his  hat  and  went ! 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE.  293 

XIII. 

A  long,  long  hour  he  paced  the  dirty  street 

Where  dwelt  the  nurse,  but  could  n't  find  the  place  ; 

For  he  had  lost  the  number  ;  and  his  feet, 

Though  clad  in  leather,  made  a  bootless  chase ; 

He  fain  had  questioned  some  one  ;  all  in  vain, — 

The  very  thieves  were  fearful  of  the  rain  ! 

XIV. 

Returning  homeward  from  his  weary  tramp, 

He  reached  his  house,  —  or  where  his  house  should 
be; 

When,  by  the  glimmer  of  the  entry-lamp, 

Don  Jose"  saw  —  and  marvelled  much  to  see  — 

An  ancient,  strange,  and  most  fantastic  door, 

The  like  whereof  he  'd  never  seen  before ! 


xv. 

"  Now,  by  Our  Lady  !  —  this  is  mighty  queer !" 
Cried  Jose,  —  staring  at  the  graven  wood, — 

"  I  know  my  dwelling  stands  exactly  here  ; 
At  least,  I  'm  certain  here  is  where  it  stood 

Two  hours  ago,  when  (here  he  gave  a  curse) 

Donna  Casilda  sent  me  for  the  nurse. 

XVI. 

I  know  the  houses  upon  either  side  ; 

There  stands  the  dwelling  of  the  undertaker ; 
Here  my  good  friend  Morena  lived  and  died  ; 

And  here  's  the  shop  of  old  Trappal,  the  baker ; 
And  yet,  as  sure  as  iron  is  n't  brass, 
'Tts  not  my  door,  or  I  'm  a  precious  ass  ! 


294 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 


XVII. 
"  However,  I  will  knock  "  ;  and  so  he  did, 

And  called,  "  Casilda  ! "  loud  enough  to  rouse 
The  very  dullest  watchman  in  Madrid  ; 

But  woke,  instead,  the  porter  of  the  house, 
Who  rudely  asked  him,  Where  he  got  his  beer  ? 
And  bade  him,  "  Go  !  —  there  's  no  Casilda  here  ! " 

XVIII. 

Don  Jose"  crossed  himself  in  dire  dismay,1 
Lest  he  had  lost  his  reason,  or  his  sight ; 

At  least  't  was  certain  he  had  lost  his  way  ; 
And,  hoping  sleep  might  set  the  matter  right, 

He  sought  and  found  the  dwelling  of  a  friend 

Who  lived  in  town,  —  quite  at  the  other  end. 

XIX. 

Next  morning  Jose",  rising  with  the  sun, 

Returned,  once  more,  to  seek  the  missing  house ; 

And  there  it  stood,  as  it  had  always  done, 
And  there  stood  also  his  indignant  spouse 

With  half  her  city  cousins  at  her  back, 

Waiting  to  put  poor  Josd  on  the  rack. 


XX. 

"  A  charming  husband,  you  !  "  the  dame  began, 
"  To  leave  your  spouse  in  peril  of  her  life, 

For  tavern  revellers  !  —  You  're  a  pretty  man, 
Thus  to  desert  your  lawful,  wedded  wife, 

And  spend  your  nights  —  O  villain  !  —  don't  explain, 

I  '11  be  revenged  if  there  is  law  in  Spain ! " 


THE    WIFE'S  RE  FENCE. 

XXI. 

"  Nay,  Madam,  hear  me  !  — just  a  single  word  —  " 
And  then  he  told  her  of  his  fruitless  search 

To  find  the  beldam ;  and  of  what  occurred,  — 
How  his  own  house  had  left  him  in  the  lurch  / 

Here  such  a  stream  of  scorn  came  pouring  in, 

Don  Jose's  voice  was  smothered  in  the  din. 

XXII. 

"Nay,"  said  Casilda,  "that  will  never  do  ; 

Your  own  confession  plainly  puts  you  down  ! 
Say  you  were  tipsy  (it  were  nothing  new), 

And  spent  the  night  carousing  through  the  town 
With  other  topers  ;  that  may  be  received  ; 
But,  faith  !  your  tale  will  never  be  believed  !  " 

XXIII. 

Crazed  with  the  clamor  of  the  noisy  crew 
All  singing  chorus  to  the  injured  dame, 

Say,  what  the  deuce  could  poor  Don  Josd  do?  — 
He  prayed  for  pardon,  and  confessed  his  shame ; 

And  gave  no  dinners,  in  his  future  life, 

Without  remembering  to  invite  his  wife  ! 


295 


296       THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES. 
THE   DERVIS   AND   HIS   ENEMIES. 

A    TURKISH     LEGEND. 
I. 

NEAR  Babylon,  in  ancient  times, 
There  dwelt  a  humble,  pious  Dervis 
Who  lived  on  alms,  and  spent  his  days 
In  exhortation,  prayer,  and  praise, — 
Devoted  to  the  Prophet's  service. 

n. 

To  him,  one  day,  a  neighbor  sent 
A  gift  extremely  rare  and  pleasant,  — 

A  fatted  ox  of  goodly  size  ; 

Whereat  the  grateful  Dervis  cries, 

"  Allah  be  praised  for  this  fine  present ! " 

in. 

So  large  a  gift  were  hard  to  hide  ; 

Nor  was  he  careful  to  conceal  it ; 
Indeed,  a  thief  had  chanced  to  spy 
The  ox  as  he  was  passing  by, 

And  so  resolved  to  go  and  steal  it 

rv. 

Now  while  he  sought,  with  this  intent, 

The  owner's  humble  habitation, 
He  met  a  stranger  near  the  place, 
Who  seemed  —  to  judge  him  by  his  face  — 
A  person  of  his  own  vocation. 


THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES.       297 

V. 
And  so  the  thief,  as  one  who  knew 

What  to  a  brother-rogue  was  owing, 
Politely  bade  the  man  "  Good  day," 
And  asked  him,  in  a  friendly  way, 

His  name,  and  whither  he  was  going. 

VI. 

The  stranger  bowed,  and  gruffly  said  : 
"  My  name  is  Satan,  at  your  service  ! 

And  I  am  going,  Sir,  to  kill 

A  man  who  lives  near  yonder  hill,  — 
A  fellow  called  the  '  Holy  Dervis. 

VII. 

"  I  hate  him  as  a  mortal  foe  ; 

For,  spite  of  me  and  Nature's  bias, 
There  's  scarce  a  knave  in  all  these  parts 
But  this  vile  Dervis,  by  his  arts, 

Has  made  him  honest,  chaste,  and  pious  1 " 

VIII. 

"  Sir,  I  am  yours  ! "  the  thief  replied  ; 

"  I  scorn  to  live  by  honest  labor ; 
And  even  now  I  'm  on  my  way 
To  steal  an  ox  received  to-day 

By  this  same  Dervis  from  a  neighbor." 

IX. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  fiend, 
"  You  seem,  indeed,  a  younger  brother ; 

And,  faith  !  in  such  a  case  as  this, 

It  certainly  were  much  amiss 

If  we  should  fail  to  aid  each  other  !  " 


2g8       THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES. 
X. 

While  thus  discoursing,  sooth  to  say, 

Each  knave  had  formed  the  resolution 
(Lest  aught  occur  to  mar  his  plan) 
To  be  himself  the  foremost  man 
To  put  his  scheme  in  execution. 

XI. 

"  For,    said  the  thief  unto  himself, 

"  Before  his  work  is  half  completed, 
The  Dervis,  murdered  where  he  lies, 
Will  rouse  the  neighbors  with  his  cries, 
And  so  my  plan  will  be  defeated  !  " 

XII. 

"If  he  goes  first,"  the  other  thought, 

His  cursed  ox  may  chance  to  bellow ; 
Or  else,  in  breaking  through  the  door, 
He  '11  wake  the  Dervis  with  the  roar, 
And  I  shall  fail  to  kill  the  fellow !" 

XIII. 

So  when  they  reached  the  hermit's  house, 
The  devil  whispered,  quite  demurely, 

"  While  I  go  in,  you  stand  without ; 

My  job  despatched,  —  we  '11  go  about 
The  other  business  more  securely." 

XIV. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  robber,  "  I  protest 

I  don't  at  all  approve  the  measure ; 
This  seems  to  me  the  better  plan  : 
Just  wait  till  I  have  robbed  the  man, 
Then  you  may  kill  him  at  your  leisure." 


RAMPS1NITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 

XV. 
Now  when,  at  last,  they  both  refused 

To  yield  the  point  in  controversy, 
To  such  a  height  the  quarrel  rose, 
From  words  and  threats  they  came  to  blows, 

And  beat  each  other  without  mercy  ! 

XVI. 
Perceiving  that  the  devil's  strokes 

Surpassed  his  own  in  weight  and  number, 
The  thief —  before  he  took  to  flight  — 
Cried,  "  Murder  !  —  help  ! "  with  all  his  might, 

And  roused  the  Dervis  from  his  slumber. 

xvir. 
"Thieves!  —  thieves!"  cried  Satan  —  going  off 

(To  figure  at  some  tavern-revel). 
And  so  —  by  this  fraternal  strife  — 
The  Dervis  saved  his  ox  and  life, 

Despite  the  robber  and  the  devil ! 


RAMPSINITUS   AND   THE   ROBBERS. 

AN     EGYPTIAN    TALE. 

T  N  charming  old  Herodotus, 
-*•  If  you  were  college-bred, 
The  Tale  of  Rampsinitus 

You  may,  perchance,  have  read  ; 
If  not,  't  is  little  matter,  — 

You  may  read  it  here  instead. 


299 


300 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 

This  Rampsinitus  was  a  king 

Who  lived  in  days  of  old, 
And,  finding  that  his  treasury 

Was  quite  too  small  to  hold 
His  jewels  and  his  money-bags 

Of  silver  and  of  gold, 

He  built  a  secret  chamber, 

With  this  intent  alone, 
(That  is,  he  got  an  architect 

And  caused  it  to  be  done,) 
A  most  substantial  structure 

Of  mortar  and  of  stone. 

A  very  solid  building 

It  appeared  to  every  eye, 
Except  the  master-mason's, 

Who  plainly  could  espy 
One  stone  that  fitted  loosely 

When  the  masonry  was  dry. 

A  dozen  years  had  vanished, 

When,  in  the  common  way, 
The  architect  was  summoned 

His  final  debt  to  pay  ; 
And  thus  unto  his  children 

The  dying  man  did  say  :  — 

"  Come  hither  now,  my  darling  sons, 
,  Come,  list  my  children  twain, 
I  have  a  little  secret 

I  am  going  to  explain  ; 
'T  is  a  comfort,  now  I  'm  dying, 
That  I  have  n't  lived  in  vain." 


RAMPSINITUS  AND   THE  ROBBERS.      301 

And  then  he  plainly  told  them 

Of  the  trick  that  he  had  done  ; 
How  in  the  royal  chamber 

He  had  put  a  sliding  stone, — 
"  You  '11  find  it  near  the  bottom, 

On  the  side  that 's  next  the  sun. 

"  Now  I  feel  that  I  am  going  ; 

Swift  ebbs  the  vital  tide  ; 
No  longer  in  this  wicked  world 

My  spirit  may  abide." 
And  so  this  worthy  gentleman 

Turned  up  his  toes  and  died  ! 

It  was  n't  long  before  the  sons 

Improved  the  father's  hint, 
And  searched  the  secret  chamber 

To  discover  what  was  in  't ; 
And  found,  by  self-promotion, 

They  were  "  Masters  of  the  Mint!" 

At  length  King  Rampsinitus 

Perceived,  as  well  he  might, 
His  caskets  and  his  money-bags 

Were  getting  rather  light  f 
"  And  yet,"  quoth  he,  "  my  bolts  and  bars 

Are  all  exactly  right ! 

I  wonder  how  the  cunning  dog 

Has  managed  to  get  in  ; 
However,  it  is  clear  enough, 

I  'm  losing  lots  of  tin  ; 
I  '11  try  the  virtue  of  a  trap 

Before  the  largest  bin ! " 


302 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 

In  came  the  thief  that  very  night, 

And^soon  the  other  chap, 
Who  waited  at  the  opening, 

On  hearing  something  snap, 
Went  in  and  found  his  brother 

A-sitting  in  the  trap  ! 

"  You  see  me  in  a  pretty  fix  ! " 

The  gallant  fellow  said  ; 
"  'T  is  better,  now,  that  one  should  die 

Than  two  of  us  be  dead,  — 
Lest  both  should  be  detected, 

Cut  off  my  foolish  head  ! " 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  other, 
"  Such  a  cut  were  hardly  kind, 

And  to  obey  your  order, 
I  am  truly  disinclined  ; 

But,  as  you  're  the  elder  brother, 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  mind." 

So,  with  his  iron  hanger 

He  severed,  at  a  slap, 
The  noddle  of  the  victim, 

Which  he  carried  through  the  gap, 
And  left  the  bleeding  body 

A-sitting  in  the  trap. 

His  majesty's  amazement 

Of  course  was  very  great, 
On  entering  the  chamber 

That  held  his  cash  and  plate, 
To  find  the  robber's  body 

Without  a  bit  of  pate ! 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 

To  solve  the  mighty  mystery 

Was  now  his  whole  intent ; 
And  everywhere,  to  find  the  head, 

His  officers  were  sent ; 
But  every  man  came  again 

No  wiser  than  he  went. 

At  last  he  set  a  dozen  men 

The  mystery  to  trace  ; 
And  bade  them  watch  the  body 

In  a  very  public  place, 
And  note  what  signs  of  sorrow 

They  might  see  in  any  face. 

The  robber,  guessing  what  it  meant, 

Was  naturally  shy  ; 
And,  though  he  mingled  in  the  crowd, 

Took  care  to  "  mind  his  eye," 
For  fear  his  brother's  body-guard 

His  sorrow  should  espy. 

"  I  '11  cheat  'em  yet ! "  the  fellow  said ; 

And  so  that  very  night, 
He  planned  a  cunning  stratagem 

To  get  the  soldiers  "  tight "  ; 
And  steal  away  his  brother's  trunk 

Before  the  morning  light. 

He  got  a  dozen  asses, 

And  put  upon  their  backs 
As  many  loads  as  donkeys 

Of  wine  in  leather-sacks  ; 
Then  set  the  bags  a-leaking 

From  a  dozen  little  cracks. 


3°3 


304     RAMPSINITUS  AND   THE.  ROBBERS. 

Then  going  where  the  soldiers 
Were  keeping  watch  and  ward, 

The  fellows  saw  the  leaking  wine 
With  covetous  regard, 

And  straightway  fell  a-drinking, 
And  drank  extremely  hard. 

The  owner  stormed  and  scolded 

With  well-affected  spunk, 
But  still  they  kept  a-drinking 

Till  all  of  them  were  drunk  ; 
And  so  it  was  the  robber 

Stole  off  his  brother's  trunk  ! 

Now  when  King  Rampsinitus 

Had  heard  the  latest  news, 
'T  is  said  his  royal  Majesty 

Expressed  his  royal  views 
In  language  such  as  gentlemen 

Are  seldom  known  to  use. 

Now  when  a  year  had  vanished, 

He  formed  another  plan 
To  catch  the  chap  who  Jd  stolen 

The  mutilated  man; 
And  summoning  the  Princess, 

His  Majesty  began  :  — 

"  My  daughter,  hold  a  masquerade, 

And  offer  —  as  in  fun  — 
Five  kisses  (in  your  chamber) 

To  every  mother's  son 
Who  '11  tell  the  shrewdest  mischief 

That  he  has  ever  done.6 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS.      305 

"  If  you  chance  to  find  the  robber 

By  the  trick  that  I  have  planned, 
Remember,  on  the  instant, 

To  seize  him  by  the  hand, 
Then  await  such  further  orders 

As  your  father  may  command." 

The  Princess  made  the  party, 

Without  the  least  dissent. 
T'  was  a  general  invitation, 

And  everybody  went,  — 
The  robber  with  the  others, . 

Though  he  guessed  the  king's  intent. 

Now  when  the  cunning  robber 

Was  questioned,  like  the  rest, 
He  said  :  "  Your  Royal  Highness, 

I  solemnly  protest 
Of  all  my  subtle  rogueries, 

I  scarce  know  which  is  best ; 

"  But  I  venture  the  opinion, 

'T  was  a  rather  pretty  job, 
When,  having  with  my  hanger 

Cut  off  my  brother's  nob, 
I  managed  from  the  soldiers 

His  headless  trunk  to  rob ! " 

And  now  the  frightened  Princess 

Gave  a  very  heavy  groan, 
For,  to  her  consternation, 

The  cunning  thief  had  flown, 
And  left  the  hand  she  grappled 

Still  lying  in  her  own  1 


306     RAMPSINITUS  AND   THE  ROBBERS. 

(For  he  a  hand  had  borrowed, 

'T  is  needful  to  be  said, 
From  the  body  of  a  gentleman 

That  recently  was  dead, 
And  that  he  gave  the  Princess 

The  moment  that  he  fled  !) 

Then  good  King  Rampsinitus 

Incontinently  swore 
That  this  paragon  of  robbers 

He  would  persecute  no  more  ; 
For  such  a  clever  rascal 

Had  never  lived  before  ! 

And  in  that  goodly  company, 

His  Majesty  declared 
That  if  the  thief  would  show  himself 

His  person  should  be  spared, 
And  with  his  only  daughter 

In  marriage  should  be  paired! 

And  when  King  Rampsinitus 

Had  run  his  mortal  lease, 
He  left  them  in  his  testament 

Just  half  a  crown  apiece  ; 
May  every  modest  merit 

Thus  flourish  and  increase  ! 


POOR    TARTAR. 
POOR   TARTAR. 

A     HUNGARIAN     LEGEND. 
I. 

'"pHERE  's  trouble  in  Hungary,  now,  alas  ! 
-L      There  's  trouble  on  every  hand  1 

For  that  terrible  man, 

The  Tartar  Khan, 
Is  ravaging  over  the  land  ! 

II. 

He  is  riding  forth  with  his  ugly  men, 
To  rob  and  ravish  and  slay ; 

For  deeds  like  those, 

You  may  well  suppose, 
Are  quite  in  the  Tartar-way. 

ill. 

And  now  he  comes,  that  terrible  chief, 
To  a  mansion  grand  and  old  ; 

And  he  peers  about 

Within  and  without, 
And  what  do  his  eyes  behold  ? 

IV. 

A  thousand  cattle  in  fold  and  field, 
And  sheep  all  over  the  plain ; 

And  noble  steeds 

Of  rarest  breeds, 
And  beautiful  crops  of  grain. 


3°7 


3o8  POOR    TARTAR. 

V. 

But  finer  still  is  the  hoarded  wealth 
That  his  ravished  eyes  behold  ; 

In  silver  plate 

Of  wondrous  weight, 
And  jewels  of  pearl  an'd  gold ! 

VI. 

A  nobleman  owns  this  fine  estate  ; 
And  when  the  robber  he  sees, 

'T  is  not  very  queer 

He  quakes  with  fear, 
And  trembles  a  bit  in  the  knees  I 

VII. 

He  quakes  in  fear  of  his  precious  life, 
And,  scarce  suppressing  a  groan, 

u  Good  Tartar,"  says  he, 

"  Whatever  you  see 
Be  pleased  to  reckon  your  own ! " 

VIII. 

The  Khan  looked  round  in  a  leisurely  way 
As  one  who  is  puzzled  to  choose  ; 

When,  cocking  his  ear, 

He  chanced  to  hear 
The  creak  of  feminine  shoes  I 

IX. 

The  Tartar  smiled  a  villanous  smile, 
When,  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

A  lady  fair 

With  golden  hair 
Came  gliding  into  the  room. 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES.  309 

X. 

The  robber  stared  with  amorous  eyes  ; 
Was  ever  so  winning  a  face  ? 

And  long  he  gazed 

As  one  amazed 
To  see  such  beauty  and  grace. 

XI. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  lawless  man 
Had  seized  his  struggling  prey, 

Without  remorse, 

And  —  taking  horse  — 
He  bore  the  lady  away  ! 

XII. 

"  Now  Heaven  be  praised  ! "  the  nobleman  cried, 
"  For  many  a  mercy  to  me  ! 

I  bow  me  still 

Unto  his  will,  — 
God  pity  the  Tartar!"  said  he. 


THE   FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 

A     HEBREW     TALE. 
I. 

A  PIOUS  Rabbi,  forced  by  heathen  hate 
To  quit  the  boundaries  of  his  native  land, 
Wandered  abroad,  submissive  to  his  fate, 

Through  pathless  woods  and  wastes  of  burning  sand. 

n. 
A  patient  ass,  to  bear  him  in  his  flight, 

A  dog,  to  guard  him  from  the  robber's  stealth, 


3io 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES. 


A  lamp,  by  which  to  read  the  law  at  night,  — 
Was  all  the  pilgrim's  store  of  worldly  wealth. 

ill. 

At  set  of  sun  he  reached  a  little  town, 

And  asked  for  shelter  and  a  crumb  of  food ; 

But  every  face  repelled  him  with  a  frown, 
And  so  he  sought  a  lodging  in  the  wood. 

IV. 

"  'T  is  very  hard,"  the  weary  traveller  said, 

"And  most  inhospitable,  I  protest, 
To  send  me  fasting  to  this  forest  bed  ; 

But  God  is  good,  and  means  it  for  the  best ! " 

V. 

He  lit  his  lamp  to  read  the  sacred  law, 
Before  he  spread  his  mantle  for  the  night ; 

But  the  wind  rising  with  a  sudden  flaw, 
He  read  no  more,  —  the  gust  put  out  the  light 

VI. 

"  'T  is  strange,"  he  said,  "  't  is  very  strange,  indeed, 
That  ere  I  lay  me  down  to  take  my  rest, 

A  chapter  of  the  law  I  may  not  read,  — 
But  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best" 

VII. 

With  these  consoling  words  the  Rabbi  tries 
To  sleep,  —  his  head  reposing  on  a  log,  — 

But,  ere  he  fairly  shut  his  drowsy  eyes, 

A  wolf  came  up  and  killed  his  faithful  dog. 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES.  3I 

VIII. 

"What  new  calamity  is  this  ? "  he  cried  ; 

"  My  honest  dog —  a  friend  who  stood  the  test 
When  others  failed  —  lies  murdered  at  my  side  ! 

Well,  —  God  is  good  and  means  it  for  the  best." 

IX. 

Scarce  had  the  Rabbi  spoken,  when,  alas !  — 
As  if,  at  once,  to  crown  his  wretched  lot, 

A  hungry  lion  pounced  upon  the  ass, 

And  killed  the  faithful  donkey  on  the  spot. 

x. 

"Alas  !  —  alas  !  "  the  weeping  Rabbi  said, 
"  Misfortune  haunts  me  like  a  hateful  guest ; 

My  dog  is  gone,  and  now  my  ass  is  dead,  — 
Well,  —  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! " 

XI. 

At  dawn  of  day,  imploring  heavenly  grace, 

Once  more  he  sought  the  town  ;  but  all  in  vain  ; 

A  band  of  robbers  had  despoiled  the  place, 
And  all  the  churlish  citizens  were  slain! 

XII. 

"  Now  God  be  praised  !  "  the  grateful  Rabbi  cried, 
"  If  I  had  tarried  in  the  town  to  rest, 

I  too,  with  these  poor  villagers,  had  died,  — 
Sure,  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! 

XIII. 

"  Had  not  the  wanton  wind  put  out  my  lamp, 
By  which  the  sacred  law  I  would  have  read, 


3T2  THE    WANDERING  JEW. 

The  light  had  shown  the  robbers  to  my  camp, 
And  here  the  villains  would  have  left  me  dead ! 


XIV. 
"  Had  not  my  faithful  animals  been  slain, 

Their  noise,  no  doubt,  had  drawn  the  robbers  near, 
And  so  their  master,  it  is  very  plain, 

Instead  of  them,  had  fallen  murdered  here  ! 

XV. 

"  Full  well  I  see  that  this  hath  happened  so 
To  put  my  faith  and  patience  to  the  test ; 

Thanks  to  His  name !  for  now  I  surely  know 
That  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! " 


THE   WANDERING  JEW.1 

A     BALLAD. 

COME  list,  my  dear, 
And  you  shall  hear 
About  the  wonderful  Wandering  Jew, 
Who  night  and  day, 
The  legends  say, 
Is  taking  a  journey  he  never  gets  through. 

What  is  his  name, 

Or  whence  he  came, 
Or  whither  the  weary  wanderer  goes ; 

Or  why  he  should  stray 

In  this  singular  way, 
Many  have  marvelled,  but  nobody  knows. 


THE    WANDERING  JEW.  313 

Though  oft,  indeed, 

(As  you  may  read 
In  ancient  histories  quaint  and  true,) 

A  man  is  seen 

Of  haggard  mien 
Whom  people  call  the  Wandering  Jew. 

Once  in  Brabant, 

With  garments  scant, 
And  shoeless  feet,  a  stranger  appeared ; 

His  step  was  slow, 

And  white  as  snow 
Were  his  waving  locks  and  flowing  beard. 

His  cheek  was  spare, 

His  head  was  bare  ; 
And  little  he  recked  of  heat  or  cold  ; 

Misfortune's  trace 

Was  in  his  face, 
And  he  seemed  at  least  a  century  old. 

"  Now,  goodman,  bide," 

The  people  cried, 
"  The  night  with  us,  —  it  were  surely  best ; 

The  wind  is  cold, 

And  thou  art  old, 
And  sorely  needest  shelter  and  rest  !  " 

"  Thanks  !  thanks  ! "  said  he, 

"  It  may  not  be 
That  I  should  tarry  the  night  with  you ; 

I  cannot  stay ; 

I  must  away, 

For  I  —  alas  !  am  the  Wandering  Jew  !  " 
14 


3 14  THE    WANDERING  JEW. 

"  We  oft  have  read," 

The  people  said, 
"  Thou  bearest  ever  a  nameless  woe  ; 

Now,  prithee  tell 

How  it  befell 
That  thou  art  always  wandering  so  ?  " 

"  The  time  would  fail 

To  tell  my  tale, 
And  yet  a  little,  ere  I  depart, 

Would  I  relate 

About  my  fate, 
For  some  —  perhaps  —  may  lay  it  to  heart. 

"  When  but  a  youth 

(And  such,  in  sooth, 
Are  ever  of  giddy  and  wanton  mood), 

With  tearless  eye 

I  saw  pass  by 
The  Saviour  bearing  the  hateful  rood. 

"  And  when  he  stooped, 

And,  groaning,  drooped 
And  staggered  and  fell  beneath  the  weight, 

I  cursed  his  name, 

And  cried,  '  For  shame ! 
Move  on,  blasphemer,  and  meet  thy  fate  ! ' 

"  He  raised  his  head, 

And,  smiling,  said : 
'  Move  on  thyself!    In  sorrow  and  pain, 

When  I  am  gone 

Shalt  thou  move  on, 
Nor  rest  thy  foot  till  I  come  again  ! ' 


THE    WANDERING  JEW. 

"  Alas !  the  time 

That  saw  my  crime,  — 
('T  was  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago !) 

And  since  that  hour 

Some  inward  power 
Has  kept  me  wandering  to  and  fro. 

"  I  fain  would  die 

That  I  might  lie 
With  those  who  sleep  in  the  silent  tomb ; 

But  not  for  me 

Is  rest,  —  till  He 
Shall  come  to  end  my  dreadful  doom. 

"  The  pestilence 

That  hurries  hence 
A  thousand  souls  in  a  single  night 

Brings  me  no  death 

Upon  its  breath, 
But  passes  by  in  its  wayward  flight. 

"  The  storm  that  wrecks 

A  hundred  decks, 
And  drowns  the  shuddering,  shrieking  crew 

Still  leaves  afloat 

The  fragile  boat 
That  bears  the  life  of  the  Wandering  Jew. 

"  But  I  must  away  ; 

I  cannot  stay ; 
Nor  further  suffer  a  moment's  loss  ; 

Heed  well  the  word 

That  ye  have  heard,  — 
Nor  spurn  the  Saviour  who  bore  the  Cross  ' 


316  THE    THREE   GOOD  DAYS. 

THE   THREE   GOOD    DAYS. 

A     LEGEND     OF    ITALY. 

IN  Casena  dwelt  a  widow  ; 
Worldly  fortune  she  had  none  ; 
Nor  a  single  near  relation 
Save  her  silly,  idle  son. 

Little  heeded  he  her  counsel 
When  she  bade  him  stir  about,  — 

Ever  yawning,  dozing,  sleeping, 
Like  a  good-for-nothing  lout. 

Oft  and  oft  his  mother  told  him 
(Dame  LUCETTA  was  her  name), 

"Rise,  LUCELLO  !  —  (so  she  called  him), 
Get  thee  out,  —  for  very  shame  ! 

"  See  !  the  sun  is  high  in  Heaven ! 

Quit,  my  boy,  your  lazy  bed  ; 
Go  and  seek  some  honest  labor ; 

So  good  days  shall  crown  your  head." 

Much  the  foolish  fellow  marvelled 
What  "good  days"  might  chance  to  be; 

When,  at  last,  the  lad  determined 
He  would  even  go  and  see  I 

So,  next  morning,  lo  !  —  the  sluggard, 

Rising  lazily  and  late, 
Sauntered  forth,  and  on,  and  onward, 

Till  he  reached  the  city  gate. 


THE    THREE   GOOD  DAYS. 

Here  LUCELLO,  tired  with  walking 

In  the  sultry  summer  heat, 
Straightway  laid  him  down  to  slumber 

Right  across  the  trodden  street ! 

Now  it  chanced  three  wicked  robbers, 
Coming  from  the  secret  place 

Where  their  stolen  wealth  was  buried, 
Met  the  stranger  face  to  face. 

And  the  first,  as  he  was  passing, 
Seeing  some  one  in  the  way 

(For  he  stumbled  on  the  sleeper), 
Bade  him  civilly,  "  Good  day  ! " 

"There  is  one!"  LUCELLO  answered, 
Minding  what  the  dame  had  said 

How  "  good  days,"  for  good  behavior, 
Were  to  crown  his  lucky  head. 

But  the  robber,  conscience-smitten 
Touching  the  unlawful  pelf, 

Deemed  the  words  the  lad  had  spoken 
Plainly  pointed  to  himself! 

Soon  another  robber,  passing, 

His  " Good  day"  was  fain  to  give  ; 

"  Here  is  luck  ! "  exclaimed  LUCELLO, 
"That 's  the  second / —  as  I  live  ! " 

Trembling,  now  the  rogues  awaited 

The  arrival  of  the  third, 
When  again  "  Good  day  "  was  given, 

Which  with  joy  LUCELLO  heard. 


3*7 


318  THE  STORY  OF  ECHO. 

"  Number  three  !  by  all  that 's  lucky  ! " 
Cried  the  boy,  with  keen  delight ; 

"  My  good  days  are  quickly  coming  ; 
Faith  !  the  dame  was  in  the  right !  " 

Whereupon  the  robbers,  guessing 
That  the  lad  was  well  aware 

Of  the  treasure  they  had  hidden, 
Straightway  offered  him  a  share  ; 

Which  he  joyfully  accepted, 
And  in  triumph  carried  home, 

And  with  rapture  told  his  mother, 
How  his  lucky  days  had  come ! 


THE    STORY    OF    ECHO. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  maiden  was  Echo, 
As  classical  history  tells, 
A  favorite  nymph  of  Diana, 

Who  dwelt  among  forests  and  dells. 

Now  Echo  was  very  loquacious, 
And  though  she  was  silly  and  young, 

It  seems  that  she  never  was  weary 
Of  plying  her  voluble  tongue. 

And,  I  'm  sorry  to  say  in  addition, 
Besides  her  impertinent  clack, 

She  had,  upon  every  occasion, 
A  habit  of  answering  back. 


THE  STORY  OF  ECHO. 

Though  even  the  wisest  of  matrons 
In  grave  conversation  was  heard, 

Miss  Echo  forever  insisted 
On  having  the  ultimate  word. 

A  fault  so  exceedingly  hateful, 
That  Juno  (whom  Echo  betrayed 

While  the  Goddess  was  hearing  the  babble) 
Determined  to  punish  the  maid. 

Said  she  :  "  In  reward  of  your  folly, 
Henceforward  in  vain  you  will  try 

To  talk  in  the  manner  of  others  ; 
At  best,  you  can  only  reply  !  " 

A  terrible  punishment  truly 

For  one  of  so  lively  a  turn, 
And  it  brought  the  poor  maiden  to  ruin  ; 

The  way  you  shall  presently  learn. 

For,  meeting  the  handsome  Narcissus, 

And  wishing  his  favor  to  gain, 
Full  often  she  tried  to  address  him, 

But  always  endeavored  in  vain. 

And  when,  as  it  finally  happened, 
He  spoke  to  the  damsel  one  day, 

Her  answers  seemed  only  to  mock  him, 
And  drove  him  in  anger  away. 

Ah  !  sad  was  the  fate  of  poor  Echo 

Was  ever  so  hapless  a  maid  ? 
She  wasted  away  in  her  sorrow 

Until  she  was  wholly  decayed. 


319 


3  20 


A    CASE   OF  CONSCIENCE. 

But  her  voice  is  still  living  immortal,  — 
The  same  you  have  frequently  heard, 

In  your  rambles  in  valleys  and  forests, 
Repeating  your  ultimate  word  1 


A    CASE    OF    CONSCIENCE. 


/~PWO     College    Professors,  —  I    won't    give    their 

names 

(Call  one  of  them  Jacob,  the  other  one  James),  — 
Two  College  Professors,  who  ne'er  in  their  lives 
Had  wandered  before  from  the  care  of  their  wives, 
One  day  in  vacation,  when  lectures  were  through, 
And  teachers  and  students  had  nothing  to  do, 
Took  it  into  their  noddles  to  go  to  the  Races, 
To  look  at  the  nags,  and  examine  their  paces, 
And  find  out  the  meaning  of  "bolting"  and  "baiting," 
And  the  (clearly  preposterous)  practice  of  "  waiting," 
And  "  laying  long  odds,"  and  the  other  queer  capers 
Which  cram  the  reports  that  appear  in  the  papers  ; 
And  whether  a  "  stake  "  is  the  same  as  a  post  ? 
And  how  far  a  "  heat  "  may  resemble  a  roast  ? 
And  whether  a  "  hedge,"  in  the  language  of  sport, 
Is  much  like  the  plain  agricultural  sort  ? 
And  if  "  making  a  book  "  is  a  thing  which  requires 
A  practical  printer  ?  —  and  who  are  the  buyers  ?  — 
Such  matters  as  these,  —  very  proper  to  know,  — 
And  no  thought  of  betting,  —  induced  them  to  go 
To  the  Annual  Races,  which  then  were  in  force 
(Horse-racing,  in  fact,  is  a  matter  of  course, 
Apart  from  the  pun)  in  a  neighboring  town  ; 
And  so,  as  I  said,  the  Professors  went  down. 


A   CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


321 


The  day  was  the  finest  that  ever  was  known  ; 

The  atmosphere  just  of  that  temperate  tone 

Which  pleases  the  Spirit  of  (man  and)  the  Times, 

But  impossible,  quite,  to  describe  in  my  rhymes. 

The  track  has  been  put  in  a  capital  plight 

By  a  smart  dash  of  rain  on  the  previous  night, 

And  all  things  "  went  off"  —  save  some  of  the  horses  — 

As  lively  as  crickets  or  Kansas  divorces  ! 

Arrived  at  the  ground,  it  is  easy  to  guess 

Our  worthy  Professors'  dismay  and  distress 

At  all  the  queer  things  which  expanded  their  eyes 

(Not  to  mention  their  ears)  to  a  wonderful  size ! 

How  they  stared  at  the  men  who  were  playing  at  poker, 

And  scolded  the  chap  with  the  "  sly  little  joker  "  ; 

And  the  boy  who  had  "  something  uncommonly  nice," 

Which  he  offered  to  sell  at  a  very  high  price,  — 

A  volume  that  did  n't  seem  over-refined, 

And  clearly  was  not  of  the  Sunday-school  kind. 

All  this,  and  much  more,  —  but  your  patience  will  fail, 

Unless  I  desist,  and  go  on  with  my  tale. 

Our  worthy  Professors  no  sooner  had  found 
Their  (ten-shilling)  seats  in  the  circular  ground, 
And  looked  at  the  horses,  —  when,  presently,  came 
A  wish  to  know  what  was  the  Favorite's  name  ; 
And  how  stood  the  betting,  —  quite  plainly  revealing 
The  old  irrepressible  horse-race-y  feeling 
Which  is  born  in  the  bone,  and  is  apt  to  come  out 
When  thorough-bred  coursers  are  snorting  about ! 

The  Professors,  in  fact,  —  I  am  grieved  to  report,  — 
At  the  very  rirst  match  entered  into  the  sport, 
And  bet  (with  each  other)  their  money  away  — 


322 


THE   ORIGIN  OF   WINE. 


Just  Fifty  apiece  —  on  the  Brown  and  the  Bay; 
And  shouted  as  loud  as  they  ever  could  bellow, 
"  Hurrah  for  the  filly  !  "  and  "  Go  it,  old  fellow  ! " 
And,   "  Stick  to  your   business  ! "    and  "  Rattle  your 

pegs!"- 
Like  a  jolly  old  brace  of  professional  "  Legs  ! " 

The  race  being  over,  quoth  Jacob,  "  I  see 
My  wager  is  forfeit ;  to  that  I  agree. 
The  Fifty  is  yours,  by  the  technical  rules 
Observed,  I  am  told,  by  these  horse-racing  fools  ; 
But  then,  as  a  Christian,  —  I  'm  sorry  to  say  it,  — 
My  Conscience,  you  know,  won't  allow  me  to  pay  it !  " 

"  No  matter,"  quoth  James,  "  \  can  hardly  refuse 

To  accord  with  your  sound  theological  views  : 

A  tardy  repentance  is  better  than  none  ; 

I  must  tell  you,  however,  't  was  your  horse  that  won  ! 

But  of  course  you  won't  think  of  demanding  the  pelf, 

For  /have  a  conscience  as  well  as  yourself!  " 


THE    ORIGIN    OF   WINE. 

A     GERMAN     LEGEND. 
RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  O.  M.  TINKHAM,  ESQ. 

I. 

YE  friends  of  good  cheer,  I  pray  you  give  ear  ; 
I  sing  of  old  Noah  who  planted  the  vine  ; 
But  first,  if  you  please,  our  thirst  to  appease, 
Let 's  drink  to  his  health  in  a  bumper  of  wine  I 


THE   ORIGIN  OF  WINE. 


323 


II. 

When  the  Deluge  was  o'er,  and  good  Father  Noah 
Sat  moping  one  day  in  the  shade  of  a  tree, 

An  Angel  came  near,  and  thinking  it  queer, 

Said  :  "  Tell  me,  I  pray,  what  the  matter  may  be." 

in. 

Says  Noah  :   "  I  'm  curst  with  a  horrible  thirst ; 

So  painful,  indeed,  I  am  ready  to  sink  ; 
I  have  plenty  to  eat,  there  's  no  lack  of  meat  ; 

But,  sir,  on  my  honor,  I  Ve  nothing  to  drink ! " 

IV. 

"  See,  on  every  side,"  the  Angel  replied, 

"  There  is  water  enough  both  in  river  and  rill, 

Your  fever  to  slake,  —  not  to  mention  the  lake, 
And  many  a  fountain  that  flows  from  the  hill." 

v. 

Says  Noah  :  "  I  know  the  waters  still  flow, 
But  the  Deluge  has  ruined  the  fluid  for  drink  ; 

So  many  bad  men  were  soaked  in  it  then, 

The  water  now  tastes  of  the  sinners,  I  think." 

VI. 

"  It  can't  be  denied,"  the  Angel  replied, 

"  There  is  something  of  reason  in  what  you  have  said ; 
Since  the  water  is  bad,  it  is  fitting  you  had 

A  good  wholesome  tipple  to  drink  in  its  stead." 

vn. 

Then  flying  away,  the  very  next  day 

The  Angel  came  back  with  a  handful  of  seeds  ; 

And  taught  the  good  man  the  properest  plan 
Of  planting,  and  hoeing,  and  killing  the  weeds. 


3  24  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVER$. 

VIII. 

Ah  !  what  color  and  shape  !  't  is  the  beautiful  grape 
In  clusters  of  purple  they  hang  from  the  vine  ; 

And  these  being  pressed,  —  it  is  easily  guessed, 
Old  Noah  thenceforward  drank  nothing  but  wine. 


IX. 

So,  a  cup  ere  we  part  to  the  man  of  our  heart, 
Old  Noah,  the  primitive  grower  of  wine  ; 

And  one  brimming  cup  (nay,  fill  it  quite  up) 

To  the  Angel  who  gave  him  the  seed  of  the  vine  ! 


THE    PARROT    OF    NEVERS. 

I. 

ONCE  on  a  time  there  flourished  in  Nevers, 
Within  a  nunnery  of  godly  note, 
A  famous  parrot,  so  exceeding  fair 

In  the  deep  lustre  of  his  emerald  coat, 
They  called  him  Ver-Vert,  —  syllables  that  mean 
In  English  much  the  same  as  Double  Green. 


ii. 

In  youth  transplanted  from  an  Indian  strand, 

For  his  soul's  health  with  Christian  folks  to  dwell, 

His  morals  yet  were  pure,  his  manners  bland  ; 
Gay,  handsome,  brilliant,  and,  the  truth  to  tell, 

Pert  and  loquacious,  as  became  his  age  ; 

In  short,  well  worthy  of  his  holy  cage. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


325 


III. 
Dear  to  the  sisters  for  his  winning  ways 

Was  gay  Ver-Vert ;  they  kept  him  ever  near, 
And  kindly  taught  him  many  a  holy  phrase, 

Enforced  with  titbits  from  their  daily  cheer, 
And  loved  him  better  —  they  would  oft  declare  — 
Than  any  one,  except  their  darling  Mere  I 

IV. 

Ah  !  ne'er  was  parrot  happier  than  he  ; 

And  happy  was  the  lucky  girl  of  whom 
He  asked  —  according  as  his  whim  might  be  — 

The  privilege  at  eve  to  share  her  room, 
Where,  perched  upon  the  relics,  he  would  sleep 
Through  the  long  night  in  slumber  calm  and  deep. 

v. 

At  length,  what  joy  to  see  !  —  the  bird  had  grown, 
With  good  example,  thoughtful  and  devout, 

He  said  his  prayers  in  such  a  nasal  tone, 
His  piety  was  quite  beyond  a  doubt ; 

And  some  declared  that  soon,  with  proper  teaching, 

He  'd  rival  the  Superior  at  preaching  ! 

VI. 

If  any  laughed  to  see  his  solemn  ways, 
In  curt  rebuke,  "  Orate!"  *  he  replied  ; 

And  when  his  zeal  provoked  a  shower  of  praise, 
"Deo  sit  laus  fn  t  the  humble  novice  cried  ; 

And  many  said  they  did  n't  mind  confessing 

His  "  Pax  sit  tecum  ! "  J  brought  a  special  blessing. 

*  Pray  !  }  Peace  be  with  you. 

t  Praise  be  to  God. 


326  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

VII. 
Such  wondrous  talents,  though  awhile  concealed, 

Could  not  be  kept  in  secrecy  forever ; 
Some  babbling  nun  the  precious  truth  revealed, 

And  all  the  town  must  see  a  bird  so  clever ; 
Until  at  last  so  wide  the  wonder  grew, 
'T  was  fairly  bruited  all  the  country  through. 

VIII. 

And  so  it  fell,  by  most  unlucky  chance, 

A  distant  city  of  the  parrot  heard  ; 
The  story  reached  some  sister-nuns  at  Nantz, 

Who  fain  themselves  would  see  this  precious  bird 
Whose  zeal  and  learning  had  sufficed  to  draw 
On  blest  Nevers  such  honor  and  tclat. 


IX. 

What  could  they  do  ?  —  well,  here  is  what  they  did, 
To  the  good  Abbess  presently  there  went 

A  friendly  note,  in  which  the  writers  bid 
A  thousand  blessings  hasten  their  descent 

Upon  her  honored  house,  —  and  would  she  please 

To  grant  a  favor  asked  upon  their  knees  ? 


x. 

'T  was  only  this,  that  she  would  deign  to  lend 
For  a  brief  space  that  charming  parroquet ; 

They  hoped  the  bold  request  might  not  offend 
Her  ladyship,  but  then  they  fain  would  get 

Such  proof  as  only  he  could  well  advance 

To  silence  certain  sceptic  nuns  of  Nantz. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


327 


XI. 

The  letter  came  to  hand,  and  such  a  storm 
Of  pious  wrath  was  never  heard  before  ; 

The  mildest  sister  waxed  exceeding  warm,  — 
"  Perdre  Ver-  Vert !  O  del .'  plutot  la  mort !  " 

They  all  broke  forth  in  one  terrific  cry, 

What  ?  —  lose  their  darling  ?  —  they  would  rather  die ! 

XII. 

But,  on  reflection,  it  was  reckoned  best 
To  take  the  matter  into  grave  debate, 

And  put  the  question  fairly  to  the  test 

(Which  seemed,  indeed,  a  nice  affair  of  state), 

If  they  should  lend  their  precious  pet  or  not ;        s 

And  so  they  held  a  session,  long  and  hot. 

XIII. 

The  sisters  all  with  one  accord  express 

Their  disapproval  in  a  noisy  "  No  !  " 
The  graver  dame  —  who  loved  the  parrot  less  — 

Declared,  Perhaps  't  were  best  to  let  him  go  ; 
Refusal  was  ungracious,  and,  indeed, 
An  ugly  quarrel  might  suffice  to  breed. 

XIV. 

Vain  was  the  clamor  of  the  younger  set ; 

"Just  fifteen  days  and  not  a  moment  more" 
(Mamma  decided)  "we  will  lend  our  pet ; 

Of  course  his  absence  we  shall  all  deplore, 
But  then,  remember,  he  is  only  lent 
For  two  short  weeks,"  —  and  off  the  parrot  went  1 


328  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

XV. 

In  the  same  bark  that  bore  the  bird  away 
Were  several  Gascons  and  a  vulgar  nurse, 

Besides  two  Cyprian  ladies  ;  sooth  to  say, 
Ver- Vert's  companions  could  n't  have  been  worse. 

Small  profit  such  a  youth  might  hope  to  gain 

From  wretches  so  licentious  and  profane. 

XVI. 

Their  manners  struck  him  as  extremely  queer ; 

Such  oaths  and  curses  he  had  never  heard 
And  now  in,  volleys  stunned  his  saintly  ear  ; 

Although  he  did  n't  understand  a  word, 
Their  conversation  seemed  improper,  very, 
To  one  brought  up  within  a  monastery. 

XVII. 

For  his,  remember,  was  a  Christian  tongue 
Unskilled  in  aught  save  pious  prose  or  verse 

By  his  good  sisters  daily  said  or  sung ; 

And  now  to  hear  the  Gascons  and  the  nurse 

Go  on  in  such  a  roaring,  ribald  way, 

He  knew  not  what  to  think,  nor  what  to  say. 

XVIII. 

And  so  he  mused  ii\  silence  ;  till  at  last 

The  nurse  reproached  him  for  a  sullen  fool, 

And  poured  upon  him  a  terrific  blast 

Of  questions,  such  as,  where  he  'd  been  to  school  ? 

And  was  he  used  to  travelling  about? 

And  did  his  mother  know  that  he  was  out  ? 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


329 


XIX. 

"  Ave  Maria  !  "  *  said  the  parrot,  —  vexed 
By  so  much  banter  into  sudden  speech,  — 

Whereat  all  laughed  to  hear  the  holy  text, 

And  cried,  "  By  Jove !  the  chap  is  going  to  preach !" 

"Come,"  they  exclaimed,  "let 's  have  a  song  instead." 

"  Cantate  Domino  !  "  f  the  parrot  said. 

XX. 

At  this  reply  they  laughed  so  loud  and  long 
That  poor  Ver-Vert  was  fairly  stricken  dumb. 

In  vain  they  teased  him  for  a  merry  song ; 
Abashed  by  ridicule  and  quite  o'ercome 

With  virulent  abuse,  the  wretched  bird 

For  two  whole  days  refused  to  speak  a  word  ! 

XXI. 

Meanwhile  he  listened  to  their  vile  discourse 
In  deep  disgust;  but  still  the  stranger  thought 

Their  slang  surpassed  in  freedom,  pith,  and  force 
The  purer  language  which  the  missal  taught, 

And  seemed,  besides,  an  easier  tongue  to  speak 

Than  prayer-book  Latin  or  monastic  Greek. 

xxn. 
In  short,  to  tell  the  melancholy  truth, 

Before  the  boat  had  reached  its  destined  shore 
He  who  embarked  a  pure,  ingenuous  youth, 

Had  grown  a  profligate,  and  cursed  and  swore 
Such  dreadful  oaths  as  e'en  the  Gascons  heard 
With  shame,  and  said,  "  The  Devil 's  in  the  bird  ! " 

*  Hail  Mary.  t  Let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord. 


330  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

XXIII. 
At  length,  the  vessel  has  arrived  in  port, 

And  half  the  sisterhood  are  waiting  there 
To  greet  their  guest,  and  safely  to  escort 

To  their  own  house  the  wonderful  Ver-Vert,  — 
The  precious  parrot  whom  their  fancies  paint 
Crowned  with  a  halo  like  a  very  saint ! 

XXIV. 

Great  was  the  clamor  when  their  eyes  beheld 
The  charming  stranger  in  the  emerald  coat ; 

"Ver-Vert  indeed  !  "  —  his  very  hue  compelled 
A  shout  of  praise  that  reached  the  highest  note. 

"And  then  such  eyes  !  —  and  such  a  graceful  walk! 

And  soon,  —  what  rapture !  —  we  shall  hear  him  talk ! " 


XXV. 

At  length,  the  Abbess  in  a  nasal  chant 
(Intended,  doubtless,  for  a  pretty  speech), 

Showered  him  with  thanks  that  he  had  deigned  to  grant 
His  worthy  presence  there,  and  to  beseech 

His  benediction  in  such  gracious  terms 

As  might  befit  the  sinfulest  of  worms. 


XXVI. 

Alas  for  youthful  piety  !  the  bird, 

Still  thinking  o'er  the  lessons  latest  learned, 
For  a  full  minute  answered  not  a  word. 

And  then,  as  if  to  show  how  much  he  spurned 
The  early  teachings  of  his  holy  school, 
He  merely  muttered,  "  Curse  the  silly  fool!" 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.  33! 

XXVII. 

The  lady,  startled  at  the  queer  remark, 

Could  not  but  think  that  she  had  heard  amiss ; 

And  so  began  to  speak  again,  —  but  hark  ! 
What  diabolic  dialect  is  this  ?  — 

Such  language  for  a  saint  was  most  improper, 

Each  word  an  oath,  and  every  oath  a  whopper! 


XXVIII. 

" Parbleu ! "  "Morbleit.1"  and  every  azure  curse 

To  pious  people  strictly  disallowed, 
Including  others  that  were  vastly  worse, 

Came  rattling  forth  on  the  astonished  crowd 
In  such  a  storm,  that  one  might  well  compare 
The  dreadful  volley  to  a.  feu  d^enfer  ! 

XXIX. 

All  stood  aghast  in  horror  and  dismay  ; 

Some  cried,  "  For  shame !  is  that  the  way  they  teach 
Their  pupils  at  IVcvers?"    Some  ran  away, 

Rending  the  welkin  with  a  piercing  screech  ; 
Some  stopt  their  ears  for  modesty  ;  and  some 
(Though  shocked)  stood  waiting  something  worse  to 
come! 

xxx. 

In  brief,  the  dame,  replete  with  holy  rage 

At  being  thus  insulted  and  disgraced, 
Shut  up  the  hateful  parrot  in  his  cage, 

And  sent  him  back  with  all  convenient  haste 
And  this  indignant  note  :    "In  time  to  come 
Be  pleased  to  keep  your  precious  prize  at  home !  " 


332 


KING  SOLOMON  AND   THE  BEES. 


XXXI. 

When  to  Nevers  the  wicked  wanderer  came, 
All  were  delighted  at  his  quick  return  ; 

But  who  can  paint  their  sorrow  and  their  shame 
When  the  sad  truth  the  gentle  sisters  learn, 

That  he  who  left  them,  chanting  pious  verses, 

Now  greets  his  friends  with  horrid  oaths  and  curses  ! 

XXXII. 

'T  is  said  that  after  many  bitter  days 

In  wholesome  solitude  and  penance  passed, 

Ver-Vert  grew  meek,  reformed  his  wicked  ways, 
And  died  a  hopeful  penitent  at  last. 

The  moral  of  my  story  is  n't  deep,  — '• 

"  Young  folks,  beware  what  company  you  keep !  " 


KING   SOLOMON   AND   THE   BEES. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TALMUD. 


WHEN  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory, 
Unto  his  throne  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came, 
(So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read  the  story) 

Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  monarch's  fame, 
To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court ;  and  bring 
Some  fitting  tribute  to  the  mighty  king. 

II. 

Nor  this  alone ;  much  had  her  Highness  heard 
What  flowers  of  learning  graced  the  royal  speech ; 


KING  SOLOMON  AND    THE  BEES.       333 

What  gems  of  wisdom  dropped  with  every  word ; 
What  wholesome  lessons  he  was  wont  to  teach 
In  pleasing  proverbs  ;  and  she  wished,  in  sooth, 
To  know  if  Rumor  spoke  the  simple  truth. 


ill. 

Besides,  the  queen  had  heard  (which  piqued  her  most) 
How  through  the  deepest  riddles  he  could  spy ; 

How  all  the  curious  arts  that  women  boast 
Were  quite  transparent  to  his  piercing  eye  ; 

And  so  the  queen  had  come  —  a  royal  guest  — 

To  put  the  sage's  cunning  to  the  test. 

IV. 

And  straight  she  held  before  the  monarch's  view, 
In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of  flowers  ; 

The  one,  bedecked  with  every  charming  hue, 

Was  newly  culled  from  Nature's  choicest  bowers ; 

The  other,  no  less  fair  in  every  part, 

Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest  Art. 


"  Which  is  the  true,  and  which  the  false  ?  "  she  said. 

Great  Solomon  was  silent.     All-amazed, 
Each  wondering  courtier  shook  his  puzzled  head, 

While  at  the  garlands  long  the  monarch  gazed, 
As  one  who  sees  a  miracle,  —  and  fain, 
For  very  rapture,  ne'er  would  speak  again. 

VI. 

"  Which  is  the  true  ?  "  once  more  the  woman  asked  ; 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement  of  the  king, 


334 


KING  SOLOMON  AND    THE  BEES. 


"  So  wise  a  head  should  not  be  hardly  tasked, 

Most  learned  Liege,  with  such  a  trivial  thing  ! " 
But  still  the  sage  was  silent ;  it  was  plain 
A  deepening  doubt  perplexed  the  royal  brain. 

VII. 

While  thus  he  pondered,  presently  he  sees, 
Hard  by  the  casement,  —  so  the  story  goes, — 

A  little  band  of  busy,  bustling  bees, 
Hunting  for  honey  in  a  withered  rose. 

The  monarch  smiled,  and  raised  his  royal  head ; 

"  Open  the  window  !  "  —  that  was  all  he  said. 

VIII. 

The  window  opened  at  the  king's  command ; 

Within  the  room  the  eager  insects  flew, 
And  sought  the  flowers  in  Sheba's  dexter  hand  ! 

And  so  the  king  and  all  the  courtiers  knew 
That  wreath  was  Nature's  ;  and  the  baffled  queen 
Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she  had  seen. 

IX. 

My  story  teaches  (every  tale  should  bear 
A  fitting  moral)  that  the  wise  may  find 

In  trifles  light  as  atoms  in  the  air, 

Some  useful  lesson  to  enrich  the  mind  ; 

Some  truth  designed  to  profit  or  to  please,  — 

As  Israel's  king  learned  wisdom  from  the  bees  ! 


THE  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS. 


335 


THE  PIOUS  BRAHMIN   AND   HIS   NEIGH- 
BORS. 

A    HINDOO    FABLE. 

A  PIOUS  Brahmin  made  a  vow 
Upon  a  certain  day 
To  sacrifice  a  fatted  sheep  ; 

And  so,  his  vow  to  pay, 
One  morning  to  the  market-place 
The  Brahmin  took  his  way. 

It  chanced  three  cunning  neighbors, 

Three  rogues  of  brazen  brow, 
Had  formed  the  wicked  purpose 

(My  tale  will  tell  you  how), 
To  cheat  the  pious  Brahmin, 

And  profit  by  his  vow. 

The  leader  of  these  cunning  knaves 

Went  forth  upon  the  road, 
And  bearing  on  his  shoulders 

What  seemed  a  heavy  load, 
He  met  the  pious  Brahmin 

Not  far  from  his  abode. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  the  Brahmin  said. 

"  Indeed,"  the  man  replies, 
"  I  have  the  finest,  fattest  sheep, 

And  of  the  largest  size  ; 
A  sheep  well  worthy  to  be  slain 

In  solemn  sacrifice  1" 


336  THE  PIOUS  BRAHMIN 

And  then  the  rogue  laid  down  his  load, 
And  from  a  bag  drew  forth 

A  scurvy  dog !     "  See  there  I "  he  cried, 
"  The  finest  sheep  on  earth  ! 

And  you  shall  have  him,  if  you  will, 
For  less  than  he  is  worth  !  " 

"  Wretch  ! "  cried  the  pious  Brahmin, 

"  To  call  a  beast  so  mean 
A  goodly  sheep  !    'T  is  but  a  dog 

Accursdd  and  unclean  ; 
The  foulest,  leanest,  lamest  cur 

That  e/er  yet  was  seen  ! " 

Just  then  the  second  rogue  came  up. 

"  What  luck  !  "  he  said,  "  to  find 
So  soon  a  sheep  in  flesh  and  fleece 

Exactly  to  my  mind  ! " 
"  A  sheep  ? "  exclaimed  the  Brahmin, 

"  Then  I  am  surely  blind  ! " 

"  You  must  be  very  blind  indeed, 

Or  fond  of  telling  lies, 
To  say  the  beast  is  not  a  sheep  ! " 

The  cunning  rogue  replies  ; 
"  Go  get  a  leech  to  mend  your  tongue, 

Or  else  to  mend  your  eyes  !  " 

Now  while  these  men  disputed  thus, 
The  other  rogue  drew  near, 

And  all  agreed  this  honest  man 
Should  make  the  matter  clear. 

"  O  stranger  !  "  cried  the  Brahmin, 
"  What  creature  have  we  here  ?  " 


AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS. 

"  A  goodly  sheep  !  "  the  stranger  said. 

"  Alas  !  "  the  Brahmin  cried, 
"  A  moment  since  I  would  have  sworn 

This  honest  fellow  lied  ; 
But  now  I  know  it  is  a  sheep, 

Since  thus  you  all  decide  ! " 

And  so  it  was  the  cunning  knaves 

Prevailed  in  their  device  ; 
The  pious  Brahmin  bought  the  dog, 

Nor  higgled  at  the  price. 
*'T  will  make,"  he  said,  "  unto  the  gods 

A  pleasing  sacrifice  ! " 

But  ill  betide  the  fatal  hour 

His  filthy  blood  was  shed  ; 
It  brought  no  benison,  alas  ! 

Upon  the  Brahmin's  head  ; 
The  gods  were  angry  at  the  deed, 

And  sent  a  curse  instead  ! 

The  meaning  of  this  pleasant  tale 

Is  very  plainly  shown  ; 
The  man  is  sure  to  fall,  at  last, 

Who  does  n't  stand  alone  ; 
Don't  trust  to  other  people's  eyes, 

But  learn  to  mind  your  own  ! 


337 


338     THE  ROMANCE  OF  NICK  VAN  STANN. 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   NICK  VAN   STAXX.3 

I   CANNOT  vouch  my  tale  is  true, 
Nor  swear,  indeed,  't  is  wholly  new  ; 
But  true  or  false,  or  new  or  old, 
I  think  you  '11  find  it  fairly  told. 

A  Frenchman,  who  had  ne'er  before 
Set  foot  upon  a  foreign  shore, 
Weary  of  home,  resolved  to  go 
And  see  what  Holland  had  to  show. 
He  did  n't  know  a  word  of  Dutch, 
But  that  could  hardly  grieve  him  much  ; 
He  thought,  —  as  Frenchmen  always  do,  — 
That  all  the  world  could  parley-voo  ! 

At  length  our  eager  tourist  stands 
Within  the  famous  Netherlands, 
And,  strolling  gayly  here  and  there 
In  search  of  something  rich  or  rare, 
A  lordly  mansion  greets  his  eyes. 
"  How  beautiful ! "  the  Frenchman  cries, 
And,  bowing  to  the  man  who  sate 
In  livery  at  the  garden-gate  ; 
"  Pray,  Mr.  Porter,  if  you  please, 
Whose  very  charming  grounds  are  these  ? 
.    And  —  pardon  me  —  be  pleased  to  tell 
Who  in  this  splendid  house  may  dwell  ?" 
To  which,  in  Dutch,  the  puzzled  man 
Replied  what  seemed  like  "  Nick  Van  Stann."  * 
"  Thanks  ! "  said  the  Gaul,  "  the  owner's  taste 
Is  equally  superb  and  chaste  ; 

*  Ik  kan  niet  1'erstaau,  —  I  don't  understand. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  NICK  VAN STANN      339 

So  fine  a  house,  upon  my  word, 

Not  even  Paris  can  afford. 

With  statues,  too,  in  every  niche, 

Of  course,  Monsieur  Van  Stann  is  rich, 

And  lives,  I  warrant,  like  a  king,  — 

Ah  !  wealth  must  be  a  charming  thing  !  " 

In  Amsterdam  the  Frenchman  meets 
A  thousand  wonders  in  the  streets; 
But  most  he  marvels  to  behold 
A  lady  dressed  in  silk  and  gold. 
Gazing  with  rapture  at  the  dame, 
He  begs  to  know  the  lady's  name, 
And  hears  —  to  raise  his  wonder  more  — 
The  very  words  he  heard  before  ! 
" Mercie ! "  he  cries,  "well,  on  my  life, 
Milord  has  got  a  charming  wife  ; 
'T  is  plain  to  see,  this  Nick  Van  Stann 
Must  be  a  very  happy  man ! " 

Next  day,  our  tourist  chanced  to  pop 
His  head  within  a  lottery-shop, 
And  there  he  saw,  with  staring  eyes, 
The  drawing  of  the  Mammoth  Prize. 
"  Ten  Millions  !  —  'T  is  a  pretty  sum ; 
I  wish  I  had  as  much  at  home ! 
I  'd  like  to  know,  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 
What  lucky  fellow  is  the  winner  ?  " 
Conceive  our  traveller's  amaze 
To  hear  again  the  hackneyed  phrase  ! 
"  What !    No  ?  —  not  Nick  Van  Stann  again  ? 
Faith  !  he  's  the  luckiest  of  men ! 
You  may  be  sure  we  don't  advance 
So  rapidly  as  that  in  France. 
A  house,  the  finest  in  the  land  ; 


340   THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER. 

A  lovely  garden,  nicely  planned ; 

A  perfect  angel  of  a  wife, 

And  gold  enough  to  last  a  life, — 

There  never  yet  was  mortal  man 

So  blest  as  Monsieur  Nick  Van  Stann  !  " 


Next  day  the  Frenchman  chanced  to  meet 
A  pompous  funeral  in  the  street, 
And  asking  one  who  stood  near  by 
What  nobleman  had  pleased  to  die  ? 
Was  stunned  to  hear  the  old  reply  ! 
The  Frenchman  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Man  Dieu  !  poor  Nick  Van  Stann  is  dead ! 
With  such  a  house,  and  such  a  wife, 
It  must  be  hard  to  part  with  life  ; 
And  then,  to  lose  that  Mammoth  Prize  — 
He  wins,  and  —  pop  !  —  the  winner  dies  ! 
Ah  !  well,  his  blessings  came  so  fast, 
I  greatly  feared  they  could  n't  last  ; 
And  thus,  we  see,  the  sword  of  Fate 
Cuts  down  alike  the  small  and  great ! " 


THE   FISHERMAN   AND   THE   FLOUNDER. 

A  GERMAN   FAIRY  TALE. 

A  FISHERMAN,  poor  as  poor  can  be, 
Who  lived  in  a  hovel  beside  the  sea, 
Was  fishing  one  day,  when  "  Lo  ! "  he  cries, 
"  I  've  caught  a  flounder  of  wondrous  size  ! 
As  fine  a  flounder  as  one  could  wish  !  " 
"  O  no  !  you  have  n't ! "  exclaimed  the  fish  ; 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER. 

"  In  spite  of  my  scaly  skin,"  he  said, 
"  I  am  not  a  fish,  but  a  Prince  instead  ; 
Condemned  to  suffer  this  watery  woe ; 
So  I  beg,  good  man,  you  will  let  me  go ! " 
The  fisherman,  frightened  at  what  he  heard, 
Let  the  flounder  go  with  never  a  word 
Except  "  Good  by !    I  'd  rather  eschew 
Than  cook  a  flounder  who  talks  like  you  !  " 
His  hovel  now  the  fisherman  sought, 
And  told  his  wife  of  the  fish  he  caught, 
And  how  his  luck  was  all  in  vain, 
For  he  let  the  flounder  off  again ! 
"And  did  you  ask  for  nothing  ?  —  alack  ! " 
The  woman  cried  :    "  Go  presently  back, 
And  tell  the  Prince  of  our  wretched  lot, 
And  ask  him  to  give  us  a  finer  cot !  " 
To  mind  his  wife  he  was  something  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was  wroth 
And  so  he  went  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  thus  the  fisherman  loudly  cried  : 

"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 

Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 

For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 

Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "  Why,  O  why,  am  I  summoned  here  ? " 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered  thus  : 
"  My  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
A  cosey  hovel  is  hers  and  mine, 
But  she  fain  would  have  a  cottage  fine  !  " 
"  Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "this  very  minute ; 
The  cottage  is  hers  ;  you  '11  find  her  in  it ! " 
He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 


342   THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER. 

"  How  happy,"  he  cried,  "  we  now  shall  be ! " 
But  the  woman  answered,  "  We  shall  see  ! " 
When  a  month  was  past,  the  woman  sighed 
For  a  larger  house.     "  Now  go,"  she  cried, 
"  And  tell  the  flounder  ('t  is  my  command) 
I  want  a  mansion  large  and  grand  !  " 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  truly  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was  wroth ; 
So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  loudly  thus  the  fisherman  cried : 

"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 

Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 

For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 

Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned  here  ?  " 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered  thus  : 
"  My  wife  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
She  deems  our  cottage  much  too  small ; 
She  wants  a  mansion  large  and  tall." 
"  Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "  this  very  minute  ; 
The  mansion  is  there,  —  you  '11  find  her  in  it ! " 
He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so  ! 
And  he  cried,  "  How  happy  we  shall  be ! " 
But  the  woman  answered,  "  We  shall  see  ! " 
When  a  week  was  past,  the  woman  sighed 
For  a  castle  grand.     "  Now  go,"  she  cried, 
"  And  tell  the  flounder  that  he  must  give 
Your  wife  a  palace  wherein  to  live." 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  greatly  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was  wroth ; 
So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  softly  thus  the  fisherman  cried : 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER. 


343 


"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 

Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 

For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 

Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name  ! " 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned  here  ? " 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered  thus : 
"  My  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
She  deems  our  mansion  poorly  planned  ; 
She  wants  a  palace  great  and  grand  ! " 
"  Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "  this  very  minute  ; 
The  palace  is  there,  —  you  '11  find  her  in  it !  " 
He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and,  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so, 
And  he  cried,  "  How  happy  we  shall  be ! " 
But  the  woman  answered,  "  We  shall  see ! " 
When  a  day  was  past,  with  growing  pride, 
For  regal  power  the  woman  sighed  ; 
And  she  bade  the  fisherman  tell  the  fish 
To  reign  as  a  king  was  now  her  wish. 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sadly  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was  wroth, 
So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  softly  thus  the  fisherman  cried  : 

"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 

Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 

For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 

Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "Why  again  am  I  summoned  here?" 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered  thus  : 
"  My  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
She  has  got  a  palace  great  and  grand, 
And  now  she  asks  for  royal  command  !  " 
"  Go  home !  "  said  the  fish,  "  at  the  palace  gate 


344 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER. 

You  '11  find  her  a  king  in  royal  state ! " 

He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and,  lo  ! 

The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 

"  Good  faith,"  said  he,  "  't  is  a  charming  thing 

To  be,  like  you,  a  sovereign-  king ! 

With  a  golden  crown  upon  your  brow, 

I  'm  sure  you  '11  be  contented  now  ! " 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  the  woman  said, 

"  A  triple  crown  would  grace  my  head ; 

And  I  am  worthy,  I  humbly  hope,  — 

Go  tell  the  flounder  to  make  me  Pope  !  " 

"A  Pope?  my  dear,  —  it  cannot  be  done! 

The  Church,  you  know,  allows  but  one." 

"  Nay,  none  of  your  nonsense,  man,"  said  she, 

"A  Pope,  —  a  Pope  I  am  bound  to  be  ! 

The  Prince  will  find  it.an  easy  thing 

To  make  a  pope  as  to  make  a  king ! " 

To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sorely  loth, 

But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was  wroth, 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 

And  thus  the  fisherman  faintly,  cried : 

"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 

Hither  quickly  come  to  me, 

For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 

Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name !  " 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned  here  ?  " 
"  Alack,  alack ! "  the  fisherman  said, 
"Whatever  has  turned  the  woman's  head, 
She  is  ill-content  with  royal  scope, 
And  now,  good  luck  !  she  would  fain  be  Pope  ! " 
"  Go  home  !  "  the  flounder  gruffly  cried, 
"  And  see  the  end  of  foolish  pride  ; 
You  '11  find  her  in  her  hovel  again, 
And  there,  till  death,  shall  she  remain  !  " 


HOW  THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK. 


345 


HOW  THE    RAVEN    BECAME   BLACK. 


'  I  ^HERE  's  a  clever  classic  story, 
-*-     Such  as  poets  used  to  write, 
(You  may  find  the  tale  in  Ovid,) 
That  the  Raven  once  was  white. 


White  as  yonder  swan  a-sailing 
At  this  moment  in  the  moat, 

Till  the  bird,  for  misbehavior, 
Lost,  one  day,  his  snowy  coat.) 

"  Raven-white  "  was  once  the  saying, 

Till  an  accident,  alack  ! 
Spoiled  its  meaning,  and  thereafter 

It  was  changed  to  "  Raven-black." 

Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  happened 
That  the  change  was  brought  about  ? 

List  the  story  of  CORONIS, 
And  you  '11  find  the  secret  out. 

Young  CORONIS,  fairest  maiden 
Of  Thessalia's  girlish  train, 

Whom  Apollo  loved  and  courted, 
Loved  and  courted  not  in  vain, 

Flirted  with  another  lover 

(So  at  least  the  story  goes) 
And  was  wont  to  meet  him  slyly, 

Underneath  the  blushing  rose. 
15* 


HO IV  THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK. 

Whereupon  the  bird  of  Phoebus, 

Who  their  meetings  chanced  to  view, 

Went  in  haste  unto  his  master, 
Went  and  told  him  all  he  knew  ; 

Told  him  how  his  dear  CORONIS, 
False  and  faithless  as  could  be, 

Plainly  loved  another  fellow,  — 
If  he  doubted,  come  and  see  ! 

Whereupon  Apollo,  angry 

Thus  to  find  himself  betrayed, 

With  his  silver  bow-and-arrow 

Went  and  shot  the  wretched  maid  ! 

Now  when  he  perceived  her  dying, 

He  was  stricken  to  the  heart, 
And  to  stop  her  mortal  bleeding, 

Tried  his  famous  healing  art ! 

But  in  vain  ;  the  god  of  Physic 

Had  no  antidote  ;  alack  ! 
He  who  took  her  off  so  deftly 

Could  n't  bring  the  maiden  back ! 

Angry  with  himself,  Apollo, 
Yet  more  angry  with  his  bird, 

For  a  moment  stood  in  silence,  — 
Impotent  to  speak  a  word. 

Then  he  turned  upon  the  Raven, 
"  Wanton  babbler  !  see  thy  fate  ! 

Messenger  of  mine  no  longer, 
Go  to  Hades  with  thy  prate  ! 


DEATH  AND   CUPID. 

"  Weary  Pluto  with  thy  tattle  ! 

Hither,  monster,  come  not  back; 
And  —  to  match  thy  disposition  — 

Henceforth  be  thy  plumage  black  ! " 

MORAL. 

When  you  're  tempted  to  make  mischief, 

It  is  wisest  to  refuse  ; 
People  are  not  apt  to  fancy 

Bearers  of  unwelcome  news. 

SECOND  MORAL. 

Something  of  the  pitch  you  handle, 
On  your  fingers  will  remain  ; 

As  the  Raven's  tale  of  darkness 
Gave  the  bird  a  lasting  stain  ! 


DEATH    AND    CUPID. 

AN     ALLEGORY. 

AH  !  —  who  but  oft  hath  marvelled  why 
The  gods  who  rule  above 
Should  e'er  permit  the  young  to  die, 
The  old  to  fall  in  love  ! 

Ah  !  —  why  should  hapless  human  kind 

Be  punished  out  of  season  ? 
Pray  listen,  and  perhaps  you  '11  find 

My  rhyme  may  give  the  reason. 


347 


348  LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 

DEATH,  strolling  out  one  summer's  day, 
Met  CUPID,  with  his  sparrows  ; 

And,  bantering  in  a  merry  way, 
Proposed  a  change  of  arrows. 

"  Agreed  !  "  quoth  CUPID,  "  I  foresee 
The  queerest  game  of  errors  ; 

For  you  the  King  of  Hearts  will  be  ! 
And  I  '11  be  King  of  Terrors  !  " 

And  so  't  was  done  ;  —  alas  the  day 
That  multiplied  their  arts  !  — 

Each  from  the  other  bore  away 
A  portion  of  his  darts  !  — 

And  that  explains  the  reason  why, 

Despite  the  gods  above, 
The  young  are  often  doomed  to  die  ; 

The  old  to  fall  in  love  ! 


LOVE     AND     LUCRE. 

AN     ALLEGORY. 

LOVE  and  LUCRE  met  one  day, 
In  chill  November  weather, 
And  so,  to  while  the  time  away, 
They  held  discourse  together. 

LOVE  at  first  was  rather  shy, 
As  thinking  there  was  danger 

In  venturing  so  very  nigh 

The  haughty-looking  stranger. 


LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 

But  LUCRE  managed  to  employ 

Behavior  so  potential, 
That,  in  a  trice,  the  bashful  boy 

Grew  bold  and  confidential. 

"  I  hear,"  quoth  LUCRE,  bowing  low, 
"  With  all  your  hearts  and  honey, 

You  sometimes  suffer  —  is  it  so  ?  — 
For  lack  of  ready  money." 

LOVE  owned  that  he  was  poor  in  aught 

Except  in  golden  fancies, 
And  ne'er  as  yet  had  given  a  thought 

To  mending  his  finances  ; 

"  Besides,  I  Ve  heard  "  —  so  LOVE  went  on, 

The  other's  hint  improving  — 
"  That  gold,  however  sought  or  won, 

Is  not  a  friend  to  loving." 

"  An  arrant  lie  !  —  as  you  shall  see,  — 

Full  long  ago  invented, 
By  knaves  who  know  not  you  nor  me, 

To  tickle  the  demented." 

And  LUCRE  waved  his  wand,  and  lo  ! 

By  magical  expansion, 
LOVE  saw  his  little  hovel  grow 

Into  a  stately  mansion  ! 

And  where,  before,  he  used  to  sup 

Untended  in  his  cottage, 
And  grumble  o'er  the  earthen  cup 

That  held  his  meagre  pottage,  — 


349 


35° 


WISDOM  AND   CUNNING. 

Now,  smoking  viands  crown  his  board, 
And  many  a  flowing  chalice  ; 

His  larder  was  with  plenty  stored, 
And  beauty  filled  the  palace  ! 

And  LOVE,  though  rather  lean  at  first, 
And  tinged  with  melancholy, 

On  generous  wines  and  puddings  nursed, 
Grew  very  stout  and  jolly  ! 

Yet,  mindful  of  his  early  friend, 

He  never  turns  detractor, 
But  prays  that  blessings  may  attend 

His  worthy  benefactor ; 

And  when  his  friends  are  gay  above 
Their  evening  whist  or  euchre, 

And  drink  a  brimming  health  to  LOVE, 
He  drinks  "  Success  to  LUCRE  !  "    . 


WISDOM    AND    CUNNING. 

AN    ALLEGORY. 

AS  WISDOM  one  evening  was  taking  a  stroll, 
Quite  out  of  her  usual  road, 
She  came  to  a  hut,  at  the  foot  of  a  knoll, 
Where  Selfishness  had  his  abode. 

In  this  dismal  retreat,  —  which,  within  and  without, 
Was  the  shabbiest  ever  was  known,  — 

In  a  fashion  befitting  so  scurvy  a  lout, 
The  miser  was  living;  alone. 


WISDOM  AND   CUNNING.  -, 

\J 

She  knocked  at  the  door  with  a  maidenly  rap, 

To  inquire  concerning  the  way  ; 
For  in  strolling  about,  by  an  awkward  mishap, 

Miss  WISDOM  had  wandered  astray. 

The  occupant  growled,  for  the  insolent  churl 

Suspected  some  beggarly  kin  ; 
But,  getting  a  peep  at  the  beautiful  girl, 

He  civilly  bade  her,  "  Come  in  !  " 

Alas  for  the  damsel !  —  was  ever  before 

A  maid  in  so  wretched  a  plight  ? 
For  ScfisJmess  cruelly  bolted  the  door, 

And  forced  her  to  wed  him  outright ! 

That  a  couple  so  mated  soon  came  to  be  foes, 

Of  course  it  is  easy  to  see  ; 
For  natures  so  opposite,  every  one  knows, 

Could  never  a  moment  agree. 

And  so  it  befell  that  the  lady  at  last, 

By  pleading  deception  and  force, 
From  the  infamous  marriage  that  bound  her  so  fast, 

Procured  an  eternal  divorce. 

But  ere  't  was  decreed,  —  it  is  proper  to  say,  — 

A  serious  mischief  was  done  ; 
For  it  happened  one  morning,  —  bad  luck  to  the  day  ! 

The  lady  gave  birth  to  a  son. 

An  ill-looking  urchin  as  ever  was  born 

(As  Cunning  the  fellow  is  known), 
Whom  even  his  mother  regarded  with  scorn, 

And  never  was  willing  to  own. 


352 


THE  SULTAN  AND    THE   OWLS. 

A  slight  look  of  Wisdom,  he  bears  in  his  face, 

Procures  him  a  deal  of  respect 
With  people  too  little  discerning  to  trace 

The  vices  which  others  detect 

For,  ever  his  motives  are  sordid  and  vile, 
And  ever  his  methods  are  mean  ; 

And  thus,  in  despite  of  his  treacherous  smile, 
The  mind  of  the  father  is  seen  ! 


THE   SULTAN   AND   THE   OWLS. 


AN    ARABIAN    TALE. 


r  I  ''HE  Sultan,  Mahmoud,  in  his  early  reign, 
-*-       By  bootless  foreign  wars  reduced  the  nation, 
Till  half  his  faithful  followers  were  slain, 
And  all  the  land  was  filled  with  desolation. 

II. 
The  sultan's  Vizier,  saddened  at  the  heart 

To  see  at  every  turn  some  new  disaster, 
Essayed  in  vain,  by  counsel  and  by  art, 

To  stay  the  folly  of  his  royal  master. 

III. 
The  Vizier,  deeply  versed  in  legal  lore,  — 

In  state  affairs  the  Sultan's  chief  reliance,  — 
Had  found,  besides,  some  leisure  to  explore 

In  learned  books  the  mysteries  of  science. 


THE  SULTAN  AND    THE   OWLS.         353 

IV. 

With  other  matters  of  the  graver  sort, 

He  knew  to  judge  men's  fancies  by  their  features  ; 
And  understood,  according  to  report, 

The  hidden  language  of  the  feathered  creatures, 

v. 
One  pleasant  evening,  on  an  aged  tree 

(The  while  within  a  wood  the  twain  were  walking), 
The  Sultan  and  the  Vizer  chanced  to  see 
A  pair  of  solemn  owls  engaged  in  talking. 
• 

VI. 

The  Sultan  asked  :  "  What  is  it  that  they  say  ? " 
And  fain  would  know  what  the  debate  portended  ; 

The  Vizier  answered  :  "  Sire,  excuse  me,  pray, 
I  fear  your  Highness  would  be  much  offended." 

VII. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sultan,  "  whatsoe'er  it  be 
These  heralds  of  Minerva  may  be  saying, 

Repeat  it,  Vizier,  faithfully  to  me  ; 

There 's  no  offence,  except  in  not  obeying." 

VIII. 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  these  sagacious  fowls 
Have  met,  'twould  seem,  at  the  appointed  hour, 

To  fix  their  children's  wedding  ;  and  the  owls 
Are  at  this  moment  talking  of  the  dower. 

IX. 

"  The  father  of  the  daughter,  speaking  free, 

Says  :    '  What  are  your  conditions  ?  please  to  state 
'em!' 


354 


THE  PIN  AND    THE  NEEDLE. 


'  Well,  twenty  ruined  villages,'  quoth  he 

(The  father  of  the  son) ;  'and  that 's  my  ultimatum!' 

x. 

"  '  Done  ! '  says  the  other,  '  only  understand 
I  'd  say  two  hundred  quite  as  soon  as  twenty  ; 

Thanks  to  good  Mahmoud  !  white  he  rules  the  land 
We  shall  have  ruined  villages  in  plenty  ! ' " 

XI. 

'T  is  said  the  Sultan,  stricken  with  remorse, 
Restored  the  land  reduced  by  war  and  pillage, 

And  ruled  so  wisely  in  his  future  course 
That  not  an  owl  could  find  a  ruined  village. 


THE    PIN    AND    THE    NEEDLE. 


AN    APOLOGUE. 


A  PIN  and  Needle  in  a  basket  lay, 
Exempt  from  household  labors  ; 
And  so  they  fell  a-quarrelling  one  day, 
Like  other  idle  neighbors. 

II. 
"  Pray,  what's  the  use  ?"  the  saucy  Pin  exclaimed, 

"  Of  such  as  you  ?  you  noddy  ! 
Before  fine  ladies  you  must  be  ashamed 

To  show  your  headless  body  ! " 


THE  PIN  AND    THE  NEEDLE. 

III. 
"  Who  cares  about  your  brazen  little  head  ? 

I  hold  it  in  derision  ; 
'T  is  good  for  naught,"  the  Needle  sharply  said, 

"  Without  an  eye  for  vision  !  " 

IV. 

"  Tut ! "  said  the  other,  piqued  at  this  reply, 

"  What  profit  do  you  find  it, 
When  any  thread,  unless  you  mind  your  eye, 

Can  in  a  moment  blind  it !  " 

V. 
"  If,"  said  the  Needle,  "  what  you  say  were  true, 

I  '11  leave  it  to  the  Thimble, 
If  I  am  not  as  bright  again  as  you, 

And  twenty  times  as  nimble ! " 

VI. 
"  Grant,"  said  the  Pin,  "  you  speak  the  simple  truth, 

Beyond  the  slightest  cavil, 
You  '11  die  so  much  the  sooner,  —  in  your  youth, 

Worn  out  with  toil  and  travel  !  " 

VII. 

"  Fie  ! "  said  the  Needle,  "  to  my  Fate  I  trust ; 

I  scorn  to  be  a  laggard, 
And  live  and  die  —  like  you  —  consumed  with  rust, 

Misshapen,  old,  and  haggard  ! " 

VIII. 

Unhappy  boaster  !  for  it  came  to  pass 

The  Needle  scarce  had  spoken, 
When  she  was  taken  by  an  awkward  lass, 

And  in  the  eye  was  broken  ! 


355 


356         BEN- AM  MI  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 
IX. 

Whereat  the  Pin  (which  meets  the  damsel's  view) 

Around  the  neck  is  threaded, 
And  after  many  struggles  to  get  through, 

Is  suddenly  beheaded ! 

x. 

"  Well,  here  we  are  ! "  the  Needle  humbly  said ; 

No  more  a  haughty  scorner 
Of  the  poor  Pin  who  shared  her  lowly  bed,  — 

A  dust-heap  in  the  corner  ! 

XI. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  thinking  of  the  past, 

"  I  wish  in  better  season 
We  might  have  learned  the  lesson  which  at  last 

Has  brought  us  both  to  reason ! " 

XII. 

"  Friend  ! "  said  the  Needle,  "we  are  much  like  men,  • 

Scornful  in  sunny  weather  ; 
And  only  mindful  they  are  brothers  when 

They  're  in  the  dirt  together  ! " 


BEN-AMMI    AND   THE   FAIRIES. 

A     RABBINICAL     TALE. 

ONCE  on  a  time  a  stranger  came 
At  midnight  to  a  wealthy  man,  — 
Rabbi  Ben-ammi  was  his  name,  — 
And  thus  his  salutation  ran : 


BEN-AMMI  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 

"  Rabbi !  I  have  a  child  at  home 
Who  on  the  morrow's  early  light 

Is  eight  days  old,  —  and  thou  must  come 
And  celebrate  the  sacred  rite." 

Now  this  Ben-ammi,  be  it  known, 
Though  few  indeed  were  rich  as  he, 

With  growing  wealth,  alas  !  had  grown 
A  miser  to  the  last  degree. 

And  yet  he  held,  it  should  be  told, 
His  office  in  such  pure  regard, 

With  all  his  sordid  lust  of  gold, 
He  served  the  poor  without  reward. 

So  at  the  word  Ben-ammi  rose, 

And  when  the  sacred  Law  was  read, 

Forth  in  the  night  the  Rabbi  goes, 
To  follow  where  the  stranger  led. 

The  night  was  dark,  and,  sooth  to  say, 
The  road  they  trod  was  rough  indeed  ; 

Yet  on  and  on  they  took  their" way, 
Where'er  the  stranger  chose  to  lead. 

At  last  they  reached,  towards  the  dawn, 
A  rock  so  huge  (within  a  wood) 

A  hundred  steeds  could  not  have  drawn 
The  mighty  stone  from  where  it  stood  ! 

Now  mark  the  wonder  that  occurred  : 
The  stranger  touched  it  with  his  hand, 

Spoke  to  himself  some  mystic  word, 
And  straight  it  moved  from  off  the  land  ! 


357 


358          BEN-AMMI  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 

And  now  the  wondering  Rabbi  found 
The  earth  was  open  for  a  space, 

With  steps  that  led  beneath  the  ground, 
As  if  to  some  mysterious  place. 

Descending  these  with  prudent  care, 
And  going  far  and  farther  down, 

They  reached  an  open  country,  where 
They  found,  at  length,  a  peopled  town. 

Among  the  houses,  large  and  small, 
There  stood  a  palace  vast  and  grand, 

And  here,  within  a  spacious  hall, 
Were  fairy-folks  on  every  hand. 

• 
Now  going  where  the  woman  lay 

Whose  child  the  sacred  rite  required, 
The  stranger  bade  Ben-ammi  stay, 

And,  bowing,  silently  retired. 

"  Rabbi,  pray  listen  !  "  said  the  dame  ; 

"  These  people  here  whom  thou  hast  seen 
Thou  knowest  not  except  by  name,  — 

The  fairy  race  of  Mazakeen  ! 

"  They  are  not  human  like  ourselves 
(For  I,  indeed,  was  once  of  earth), 

But  queer,  uncouth,  uncanny  elves, 
Who  find  in  mischief  all  their  mirth. 

"  And  yet  they  have  religions  too  ; 

All  kinds  of  creeds,  like  folks  above  ; 
And  he  who  rules  them  is  a  Jew,  — 

My  husband  whom  I  dearly  love. 


BEN-AMM1  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 

"  And  hence  it  was  he  made  so  bold 
To  bring  thee  hither  in  the  night, 

That  for  our  babe,  now  eight  days  old, 
Thou  mayst  perform  the  holy  rite. 

"  He  stole  me  from  the  earth  away ; 

Of  this  I  do  not  now  complain  : 
But  listen  well  to  what  I  say, 

If  thou  wouldst  e'er  return  again. 

"  Beware !  taste  neither  food  nor  drink 
Whilst  thou  art  here,  on  any  plea, 

Or  in  a  moment  thou  wilt  sink 

Thy  manly  form  to  —  what  you  see ! " 

The  king  returning  with  his  suite, 

The  holy  rite  was  duly  done, 
And  all  sat  down  to  drink  and  eat 

In  merry  glee,  —  save  only  one. 

Ben-ammi  (fearing  the  abuse 

The  dame  had  borne)  did  not  partake 
Of  bread  or  wine,  but  made  excuse 

Of  three  days'  fast  for  conscience'  sake. 

Whereat  the  king  was  moved  to  say, 
"  How  then  shall  I  reward  thy  task  ?" 

"  Let  me  return  to  earth  this  day  !  " 
Ben-ammi  said  ;  "  't  is  all  I  ask  ! " 

"  Nay  ! "  answered  he  ;  and  led  him  forth 
'Mid  heaps  of  gems  and  golden  ore. 

"  I  would  return  this  day  to  earth," 
Ben-ammi  said  ;  "  I  ask  no  more  !  " 


359 


360         BEN- AM  MI  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 

Entering  another  room,  he  sees 

(And  marvels  much,  we  may  suppose) 

Along  the  walls,  a  thousand  keys 
In  bunches,  hung  in  rusty  rows ! 

While  gazing  at  each  brazen  line, 
Ben-ammi  cries,  with  startled  tone  : 

"  This  bunch  so  much  resembles  mine 
That  I  should  take  them  for  my  own ! " 

"  Thou  sayest  well,"  the  king  replied  ; 

"  They  are  thine  own  ;  't  is  here  I  hold 
The  keys  of  men  who  basely  hide, 

And  do  not  use,  their  gathered  gold. 

"  Here,  take  the  keys  !  —  henceforth  thy  heart 

Will  melt  in  pity  for  the  poor ; 
And  all  thou  givest  will  impart 

A  double  blessing  on  thy  store. 

"  Now,  wouldst  thou  go,  first,  shut  thine  eyes," 
Then  waves  his  hand  towards  the  dome  ; 

Up  and  away  Ben-ammi  flies, 
And  quickly  finds  himself  at  home  I 

And  from  that  day  Ben-ammi  knew 
The  use  of  wealth,  and  understood 

(While  more  and  more  his  riches  grew) 
The  blessdd  art  of  doing  good  ! 


THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER-CARRIER.  361 


THE    DISCONTENTED   WATER-CARRIER. 

A     TURKISH     TALE. 
I. 

"  '  I  "HERE  goes  the  Vizier  and  his  gaudy  train  ! 

-*-       While  I,  poor  Hassan,  indigent  and  old, 
Must  carry  water  ;  well,  I  can't  explain 

Why  one  wears  rags,  another  cloth  of  gold. 

II. 

"  The  single  diamond  that  bedecks  his  sword 
Would  set  me  up  a  gentleman  for  life  ; 

And  now,  God  bless  me  !  I  cannot  afford 
A  pair  of  scarlet  trousers  for  my  wife  ! 

in. 
"  With  half  the  money  that  his  servants  waste 

Each  day  in  knickknacks,  it  is  very  clear 
My  family  might  live  like  kings,  and  taste 

Roast  kid  for  dinner  fifty  times  a  year. 

IV. 

"  It  may  be  just ;  I  don't  affirm  't  is  not ; 

Allah  is  Allah  !  and  knows  what  is  best  ; 
But  if,  for  mine,  I  had  the  Vizier's  lot, 

'T  would  please  me  vastly  better,  I  protest !  " 

V. 
So  murmured  Hassan,  vext  within  himself 

To  .see  the  Vizier  riding  proudly  by  ; 
When  suddenly  a  little  fairy  elf 

Appeared  before  him  with  a  twinkling  eye. 


362   THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER-CARRIER. 

VI. 
"  Peace  ! "  said  the  Fairy  ;  "  ere  thy  speech  begun 

I  knew  to  what  thy  present  thoughts  incline  ; 
Choose  any  gift  thou  wilt  (but  only  one), 

And,  by  my  kingdom,  it  shall  soon  be  thine  1 " 

VII. 
Poor  Hassan,  filled  with  joy,  at  once  began  : 

"  I  fain  would  have  —  "  but  paused  before  the  word 
Escaped  his' mouth  ;  or,  sooth  to  say,  the  man 

Had  named  the  jewel  on  the  Vizier's  sword  ! 

VIII. 

What  next  he  thought  to  choose  was  all  the  gold 
That  filled  the  Calif's  coffers  ;  then  he  thought 

Of  Bagdad's  riches  ;  then  the  wealth  untold 
Of  all  the  earth,  • —  so  fast  his  fancy  wrought ! 

IX. 

Such  various  wishes  thronged  his  teeming  brain, 
He  pondered  long,  until  the  Fairy's  voice 

Showed  some  impatience,  and  the  man  was  fain 
From  very  fear  to  hasten  in  his  choice. 

x. 

But  halting  still  when  at  the  point  to  tell 

His  final  wish,  the  Fairy  kindly  told 
(To  aid  his  choosing)  of  a  hidden  well 

Filled  to  the  brim  with  jewels  and  with  gold. 

XI. 

And  then  she  led  him  to  a  secret  grot, 

Where,  underneath  a  stone,  the  treasure  lies,  . 

Removed  the  slab  that  sealed  the  sacred  spot, 
And  showed  the  riches  to  his  wondering  eyes. 


THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER-CARRIER.  363 
XII. 

"  Take  what  you  will  of  this  exhaustless  store  ; 

But,  mark  you,  if  you  pause  to  dine  or  sup, 
Your  work  is  finished  ;  you  can  have  no  more  ; 

The  stone  will  move  and  close  the  coffer  up." 

XIII. 

Charmed  with  the  sight  that  met  his  dazzled  gaze, 
He  stood  enrapt ;  then  turned  to  thank  the  fay 

For  so  much  bounty  ;  but,  to  his  amaze, 
The  nimble  sprite  unseen  had  fled  away. 

XIV. 

Whate'er  three  ample  water-skins  could  hold 
Was  soon  his  own  ;  but  this  contents  him  not ; 

Unnumbered  coins  of  silver  and  of  gold 
Invite  his  spade,  and  chain  him  to  the  spot. 

XV. 

"  Another  hour  of  digging  will  suffice," 

Quoth  Hassan,  delving  with  increasing  greed. 

"  Well,  by  the  Prophet,  here  is  something  nice ! 
Rubies  and  diamonds  !  this  is  wealth  indeed ! " 

XVI. 

And  so  he  dug  (remembering  the  hint 
The  Fairy  gave  him)  till  his  busy  spade 

Had  piled  a  mound  so  vast,  the  Calif's  mint 

Could  scarce  have  matched  the  glittering  heap  he 
made. 

XVII. 

And  yet  he  toils,  as  greedy  as  before. 

"  A  little  more!  "  said  Hassan,  "  ere  the  sun 
Sinks  in  the  west,  — •  some  fifty  shovels  more, 

And  this  day's  work,  a  brave  one  !  will  be  done  ! " 


364      THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  ADVISERS. 
XVIII. 

Poor  Hassan  !  heedless  of  the  fading  day, 

He  wrought  at  night  as  he  had  wrought  at  noon  ; 

Weary  and  faint,  but  impotent  to  stay 
His  eager  hand  beneath  the  rising  moon. 

XIX. 
"  A  little  more  !  "  the  miser  said,  "  and  I 

Will  make  an  end."     He  raised  his  weary  hand 
To  delve  again  ;  then  dropt  it  with  a  sigh,  — 

So  weak  and  worn  that  he  could  hardly  stand. 

XX. 

Fatal  Ambition  !  from  his  golden  bed 

He  tries  in  vain  to  reach  the  giddy  height ; 

The  shining  heap  comes  tumbling  on  his  head, 
And  shuts  poor  Hassan  in  eternal  night ! 


THE   MILLER  AND    HIS   ADVISERS. 

AN     APOLOGUE. 

OF  all  the  fables  quaint  and  old 
By  jEsop  or  by  Phocdrus  told, 
For  wit  or  wisdom  none  surpass 
That  of  The  Miller  and  his  Ass  ; 
Which  shrewd  Malherbe  of  modern  France 
Invented,  —  meaning  to  advance 
This  wholesome  truth,  for  old  and  young, 
(Here  rendered  in  our  English  tongue), 
That  one  —  however  cheap  the  price  — 
May  take  too  much  of  "good  advice." 

A  Miller,  who  had  thrived  so  well 
That  he  had  got  an  ass  to  sell, 


THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  ADVISERS.      365 

Set  forth,  one  morning,  for  the  fair, 
Attended  by  his  youthful  heir, 
While,  trudging  on  with  solemn  mien, 
The  precious  donkey  walked  between. 

At  length  they  meet  upon  the  way 
Some  fellows,  less  polite  than  gay, 
Who  laugh,  as  if  they  'd  split  their  sides, 
That  neither  son  nor  father  rides. 

The  hint  suffices  ;  in  a  crack 
The  boy  bestrides  the  donkey's  back, 
When,  presently,  three  merchants  came 
Along  the  road,  who  all  exclaim  : 
"  Get  off,  you  lout !  you  selfish  clod  ! 
To  let  your  aged  father  plod 
On  foot,  while  you  the  ass  bestride  ;' 
Dismount,  and  let  your  father  ride  !  " 

The  Miller  does  as  they  desire, 
Down  comes  the  son,  up  gets  the  sire, 
And  so  they  go  until  they  meet 
A  group  of  damsels  in  the  street, 
Who,  all  in  chorus,  scream  and  shout : 
"  For  shame !  that  one  so  big  and  stout 
Should  ride  at  ease  without  a  care 
About  his  young  and  tender  heir  ! " 
"  Gad  !  "  says  the  Miller,  "  their  advice 
Seems  mainly  wise  "  ;  and  in  a  trice 
(Though  Jack  esteems  it  hardly  kind) 
He  bids  the  lad  get  up  behind. 

Alas  !  the  world  is  hard  to  suit; 
The  Miller  now  is  called  a  brute 
By  all  he  meets  upon  the  road 
Who  mark  the  donkey's  double  load. 
In  sooth,  the  Miller  and  his  heir 
Were  quite  as  much  as  he  could  bear, 


366  MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE. 

And  so,  at  length,  the  careful  twain 
Took  up  the  weary  ass  amain, 
And,  to  the  mirth  of  all  beholders, 
Bore  off  the  beast  upon  their  shoulders  ! 

Alas  !  for  all  the  weight  they  bore, 
They  still  were  censured,  as  before  ; 
The  captious  rabble  followed  after 
With  sneers,  and  jests,  and  shouts  of  laughter. 
"  The  biggest  ass,"  one  fellow  said, 
"Is  clearly  not  the  quadruped  !" 
Another  mockingly  advised 
To  have  a  pet-so  highly  prized 
Kept  in  the  parlor  from  the  cold, 
Or,  for  a  breastpin,  set  in  gold  ! 

Stunned  with  the  clamor  of  their  mirth, 
He  drops  the  donkey  to  the  earth. 
"  Zooks  !  they  are  right,"  he  sighs  ;  "  alas  ! 
'T  is  clear  enough  I  am  an  ass  ! 
As  stupid  as  this  shaggy  brute, 
Essaying  thus  all  minds  to  suit ; 
Egad  !  despite  each  meddling  elf, 
I  '11  try  henceforth  to  please  myself ! " 


MURILLO   AND    HIS    SLAVE. 

A    LEGEND    OF    SPAIN. 

""\T7HOSE  work  is  this  ?  "    MURILLO  said, 

*  •     The  while  he  bent  his  eager  gaze 
Upon  a  sketch  (a  Virgin's  head) 
The  filled  the  painter  with  amaze. 

Of  all  his  pupils,  —  not  a  few,  — 

Marvelling,  't  would  seem,  no  less  than  he  ; 


MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE.  367 

Each  answered  that  he  nothing  knew 
As  touching  whose  the  sketch  might  be. 

This  much  appeared,  and  nothing  more : 

The  piece  was  painted  in  the  night. 
"And  yet,  by  Jove  !  "  Murillo  swore, 

"  He  has  no  cause  to  fear  the  light ! 

"'T  is  something  crude,  and  lacks,  I  own, 

That  finer  finish  time  will  teach ; 
But  genius  here  is  plainly  shown, 

And  art  beyond  the  common  reach. 

"  Sebastian  !  "  (turning  to  his  slave,) 

"  Who  keeps  this  room  when  I  'm  in  bed  ?  " 

"'T  is  I,  Senor."     "  Now,  mark  you,  knave  ! 
Keep  better  watch  ! "  the  master  said  ; 

"  For  if  this  painter  comes  again, 

And  you,  while  dozing,  let  him  slip, 
Excuses  will  be  all  in  vain,  — 

Remember  !  —  you  shall  feel  the  whip  ! " 

Now  while  Sebastian  slept,  he  dreamed 

That,  to  his  dazzled  vision,  came 
The  Blessed  Lady  —  so  she  seemed  — 

And  crowned  him  with  the  wreath  of  Fame  ! 

Whereat  the  startled  slave  awoke, 

And  at  his  picture  wrought  away, 
So  rapt,  that  ere  the  spell  was  broke 

The  dark  was  fading  into  day. 

"  My  Beautiful !  "  the  artist  cried  ; 

"  Thank  God  !  —  I  have  not  lived  in  vain  !  " 
Hark  !  —  'T  is  Murillo  at  his  side  ! 

.The  man  has  grown  a  slave  agfain  ! 


3 68  MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE. 

"  Who  is  your  master  ?  —  answer  me  !  " 
"  'T  is  you,"  replied  the  faltering  lad. 

"  Nay,  't  is  not  that,  I  mean,"  said  he  ; 
"  Tell  me,  what  teacher  have  you  had  ?  " 

"  Yourself,  Senor  !  —  when  you  have  taught 
These  gentlemen,  I  too  have,  heard 

The  daily  lesson,  and  have  sought 
To  treasure  every  golden  word." 

"  What  say  you,  boys  ?  "  Murillo  cried, 

Smiling  in  sign  of  fond  regard, 
"Is  this  a  case  —  pray  you  decide  — 

For  punishment,  or  for  reward  ?  " 

"  Reward,  Senor  !  "  they  all  exclaimed, 
And  each  proposed  some  costly  toy ; 

But  still,  whatever  gift  was  named, 
Sebastian  showed  no  gleam  of  joy. 

Whereat  one  said:  "  He  's  kind  to-day  ; 

Ask  him  your  Freedom."     With  a  groan 
The  boy  fell  on  his  knees  :  "  Nay,  nay  ! 

My  father's  freedom  !  —  not  my  own  ! " 

"Take  both!"  the  Painter  cried.    "Henceforth 
A  slave  no  more,  —  be  thou  my  son  ! 

Thy  Art  had  failed,  with  all  its  worth, 
Of  what  thy  Heart  this  day  has  won  !  " 

L'EN.VOI. 

The  traveller,  loitering  in  Seville, 
And  gazing  at  each  pictured  saint, 

May  see  Murillo's  genius  still ; 

And  learn  how  well  his  son  could  paint ! 


SATIRES. 


16* 


SATIRES 


PROGRESS. 

A    SATIRE. 

IN  this,  our  happy  and  " progressive "  age, 
When  all  alike  ambitious  cares  engage  ; 
When  beardless  boys  to  sudden  sages  grow, 
And  "  Miss  "  her  nurse  abandons  for  a  beau  ; 
When  for  their  dogmas  Non-Resistants  fight, 
When  dunces  lecture,  and  when  dandies  write ; 
When  matrons,  seized  with  oratoric  pangs, 
Give  happy  birth  to  masculine  harangues, 
And  spinsters,  trembling  for  the  nation's  fate, 
Neglect  their  stockings  to  preserve  the  state ; 
When  critic-wits  their  brazen  lustre  shed 
On  golden  authors  whom  they  never  read, 
With  parrot  praise  of  "  Roman  grandeur  "  speak, 
And  in  bad  English  eulogize  the  Greek  ;  — 
When  facts  like  these  no  reprehension  bring, 
May  not,  uncensured,  an  Attorney  sing  ? 
In  sooth  he  may.;  and  though  "unborn  "  to  climb 
Parnassus'  heights,  and  "  build  the  lofty  rhyme," 
Though  FLACCUS  fret,  and  warningly  advise 
That  "  middling  verses  gods  and  men  despise," 


372 


PROGRESS. 


Yet  will  he  sing,  to  Yankee  license  true, 
In  spite  of  Horace  and  "  Minerva  "  too  ! 

My  theme  is  PROGRESS,  — never-tiring  theme 
Of  prosing  dulness,  and  poetic  dream  ; 
Beloved  of  Optimists,  who  still  protest 
Whatever  happens,  happens  for  the  best ; 
Who  prate  of  "  evil  "  as  a  thing  unknown, 
A  fancied  color,  or  a  seeming  tone, 
A  vague  chimera  cherished  by  the  dull, 
The  empty  product  of  an  emptier  skull. 
Expert  logicians  they  !  —  to  show  at  will, 
By  ill  philosophy,  that  naught  is  ill ! 
Should  some  sly  rogue,  the  city's  constant  curse, 
Deplete  your  pocket  and  relieve  your  purse, 
Or  if,  approaching  with  ill-omened  tread, 
Some  bolder  burglar  break  your  house  and  head, 
Hold,  friend,  thy  rage.!  nay,  let  the  rascal  flee  ; 
No  evil  has  been  done  the  world,  or  thee: 
Here  comes  Philosophy  will  make  it  plain 
Thy  seeming  loss  is  universal  gain  ! 
"  Thy  heap  of  gold  was  clearly  grown  too  great,  — 
'T  were  best  the  poor  should  share  thy  large  estate  ; 
While  misers  gather,  that  the  knaves  should  steal, 
Is  most  conducive  to  the  general  weal ; 
Thus  thieves  the  wrongs  of  avarice  efface, 
And  stand  the  friends  and  stewards  of  the  race  ; 
Thus  every  moral  ill  but  serves,  in  fact, 
Some  other  equal  ill  to  counteract." 
Sublime  Philosophy!  —  benignant  light! 
Which  sees  in  every  pair  of  wrrongs,  a  right ; 
Which  finds  no  evil  or  in  sin  or  pain, 
And  proves  that  decalogues  are  writ  in  vain  ! 


PROGRESS. 


373 


Hail,  mighty  PROGRESS  !  —  loftiest  we  find 
Thy  stalking  strides  in  science  of  the  mind. 
What  boots  it  now  that  LOCKE  was  learned  and  wise  ? 
What  boots  it  now  that  men  have  ears  and  eyes  ? 
"  Pure  Reason  "  in  their  stead  now  hears  and  sees, 
And  walks  apart  in  stately  scorn  of  these  ; 
Laughs  at  "experience,"  spurns  "induction "hence, 
Scouting  "  the  senses,"  and  transcending  sense. 
No  more  shall  flippant  ignorance  inquire, 
"  If  German  breasts  may  feel  poetic  fire," 
Nor  German  dulness  write  ten  folios  full, 
To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  dull.9 
For  here  Philosophy,  acute,  refined, 
Sings  all  the  marvels  of  the  human  mind 
In  strains  so  passing  "  dainty  sweet "  to  hear, 
That  e'en  the  nursery  turns  a  ravished  ear  ! 
Here  Wit  and  Fancy  in  scholastic  bowers 
Twine  beauteous  wreaths  of  metaphysic  flowers ; 
Here  Speculation  pours  her  dazzling  light, 
Here  grand  Invention  wings  a  daring  flight, 
And  soars  ambitious  to  the  lofty  moon, 
Whence,  haply,  freighted  with  some  precious  boon, 
Some  old  "  Philosophy  "  in  fog  incased, 
Or  new  "  Religion  "  for  the  changing  taste, 
She  straight  descends  to  Learning's  blest  abodes, 
Just  simultaneous  with  the  Paris  modes  ! 
Here  PLATO'S  dogmas  eloquently  speak, 
Not  as  of  yore,  in  grand  and  graceful  Greek, 
But  (quite  beyond  the  dreaming  sage's  hope 
Of  future  glory  in  his  fancy's  scope), 
Translated  down,  as  by  some  wizard  touch, 
Find  "  immortality"  in  good  high  Dutch  ! 

Happy  the  youth,  in  this  our  goldtn  age, 


374 


PROGRESS. 


Condemned  no  more  to  con  the  prosy  page 
Of  LOCKE  and  BACON,  antiquated  fools, 
Now  justly  banished  from  our  moral  schools. 
By  easier  modes  philosophy  is  taught, 
Than  through  the  medium  of  laborious  thought 
Imagination  kindly  serves  instead, 
And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  aching  head. 
Room  for  the  sages  !  —  hither  comes  a  throng 
Of  blooming  Platos  trippingly  along. 
In  dress  how  fitted  to  beguile  the  fair  ! 
What  intellectual,  stately  heads  —  of  hair  ! 
Hark  to  the  Oracle  !  —  to  Wisdom's  tone 
Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of  Cologne. 
That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of  the  van, 
Talks  of  the  "  outer  "  and  the  "  inner  man," 
And  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout  resolve 
Some  mountain-sized  "idea"  to  "evolve." 
Delusive  toil !  —  thus  in  their  infant  days, 
When  children  mimic  manly  deeds  in  plays, 
Long  will  they  sit,  and  eager  "  bob  for  whale  " 
Within  the  ocean  of  a  water-pail ! 
The  next,  whose  looks  unluckily  reveal 
The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks  conceal, 
Prates  of  the  "  orbs  "  with  such  a  knowing  frown, 
You  deem  he  puffs  some  lithographic  town 
In  Western  wilds,  where  yet  unbroken  ranks 
Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchartered  "  banks," 
And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the  lots 
Adorned  with  churches  on  the  paper  plots  ! 

But  ah !  what  suffering  harp  is  this  we  hear  ? 
What  jarring  sounds  invade  the  wounded  ear  ? 
Who  o'er  the  lyre  a  hand  spasmodic  flings, 
And  grinds  harsh  discord  from  the  tortured  strings  ? 


PROGRESS.  375 

The  Sacred  Muses,  at  the  sound  dismayed, 
Retreat  disordered  to  their  native  shade, 
And  PHCEBUS  hastens  to  his  high  abode, 
And  ORPHEUS  frowns  to  hear  an  "  Orphic  ode  " ! 

Talk  not,  ye  jockeys,  of  the  wondrous  speed 
That  marks  your  Northern  or  your  Southern  steed ; 
See  Progress  fly  o'er  Education's  course  ! 
Not  far-famed  Derby  owns  a  fleeter  horse ! 
On  rare  Improvement's  "  short  and  easy  "  road, 
How  swift  her  flight  to  Learning's  blest  abode  ! 
In  other  times  —  't  was  many  years  ago  — 
The  scholar's  course  was  toilsome,  rough,  and  slow, 
The  fair  Humanities  were  sought  in  tears, 
And  came,  the  trophy  of  laborious  years. 
Now  Learning's  shrine  each  idle  youth  may  seek, 
And,  spending  there  a  shilling  and  a  week, 
(At  lightest  cost  of  study,  cash,  and  lungs,) 
Come  back,  like  Rumor,  with  a  hundred  tongues ! 

What  boots  such  progress,  when  the  golden  load 
From  heedless  haste  is  lost  upon  the  road  ? 
When  each  great  science,  to  the  student's  pace, 
Stands  like  the  wicket  in  a  hurdle  race, 
Which  to  o'erleap  is  all  the  courser's  mind, 
And  all  his  glory  that  't  is  left  behind  ! 

Nor  less,  O  Progress,  are  thy  newest  rules 
Enforced  and  honored  in  the  "-Ladies'  Schools  "  ; 
Where  Education,  in  its  nobler  sense, 
Gives  place  to  Learning's  shallowest  pretence ; 
Where  hapless  maids,  in  spite  of  wish  or  taste, 
On  vain  "accomplishments"  their  moments  waste ; 
By  cruel  parents  here  condemned  to  wrench 


376 

Their  tender  throats  in  mispronouncing  French; 

Here  doomed  to  force,  by  unrelenting  knocks, 

Reluctant  music  from  a  tortured  box  ; 

Here  taught,  in  inky  shades  and  rigid  lines, 

To  perpetrate,  equivocal  "  designs  "  ; 

"  Drawings  "  that  prove  their  title  plainly  true, 

By  showing  nature  "  drawn,"  and  "  quartered  "  too ! 

In  ancient  times,  I  Ve  heard  my  grandam  tell, 

Young  maids  were  taught  to  read,  and  write,  and  spell ; 

(Neglected  arts !  once  learned  by  rigid  rules, 

As  prime  essentials  in  the  "  common  schools  "  ;) 

Well  taught  beside  in  many  a  useful  art 

To  mend  the  manners  and  improve  the  heart ; 

Nor  yet  unskilled  to  turn  the  busy  wheel, 

To  ply  the  shuttle,  and  to  twirl  the  reel, 

Could  thrifty  tasks  with  cheerful  grace  pursue, 

Themselves  "  accomplished,"  and  their  duties  too. 

Of  tongues,  each  maiden  had  but  one,  't  is  said, 

(Enough,  't  was  thought,  to  serve  a  lady's  head,) 

But  that  was  ENGLISH,  —  great  and  glorious  tongue 

That  CHATHAM  spoke,  and  MILTON,  SHAKESPEARE, 

sung ! 

Let  thoughts  too  idle  to  be  fitly  dressed 
In  sturdy'Saxon  be  in  French  expressed ; 
Let  lovers  breathe  Italian,  —  like,  in  sooth, 
Its  singers,  soft,  emasculate,  and  smooth  ; 
But  for  a  tongue  whose  ample  powers  embrace 
Beauty  and  force,  sublimity  and  grace, 
Ornate  or  plain,  harmonious,  yet  strong, 
And  formed  alike  for  eloquence  and  song, 
Give  me  the  ENGLISH,  —  aptest  tongue  to  paint 
A  sage  or  dunce,  a  villain  or  a  saint, 
To  spur  the  slothful,  counsel  the  distressed, 
To  lash  the  oppressor,  and  to  soothe  the  oppressed, 


PROGRESS. 

To  lend  fantastic  Humor  freest  scope 
To  marshal  all  his  laughter-moving  troop, 
Give  Pathos  power,  and  Fancy  lightest  wings, 
And  Wit  his  merriest  whims  and  keenest  stings ! 

The  march  of  Progress  let  the  Muse  explore 
In  pseudo-science  and  empiric  lore. 
O  sacred  Science  !  how  art  thou  profaned, 
When  shallow  quacks  and  vagrants,  unrestrained, 
Flaunt  in  thy  robes,  and  vagabonds  are  known 
To  brawl  thy  name,  who  never  wrote  their  own ; 
When  crazy  theorists  their  addled  schemes 
(Unseemly  product  of  dyspeptic  dreams) 
Impute  to  thee!  —  as  courtesans  of  yore 
Their  spurious  bantlings  left  at  Mars's  door ; 
When  each  projector  of  a  patent  pill, 
Or  happy  founder  of  a  coffee-mill, 
Invokes  thine  aid  to  celebrate  his  wares, 
And  crown  with  gold  his  philanthropic  cares  ; 
Thus  Islam's  hawkers  piously  proclaim 
Their  figs  and  pippins  in  the  Prophet's  name  ! 

Some  sage  Physician,  studious  to  advance 
The  art  of  healing,  and  its  praise  enhance, 
By  observation  "  scientific  "  finds 
(What  else  were  hidden  from  inferior  minds) 
That  WATER  's  useful  in  a  thousand  ways, 
To  cherish  health,  and  lengthen  out  our  days ; 
A  mighty  solvent  in  its  simple  scope, 
And  quite  "specific"  with  Castilian  soap  ! 
The  doctor's  labors  let  the  thoughtless  scorn, 
See  !  a  new  "  science  "  to  the  world  is  born  ; 
"  Disease  is  dirt !  all  pain  the  patient  feels 
Is  but  the  soiling  of  the  vital  wheels  ; 


377 


378 


PROGRESS. 


To  wash  away  all  particles  impure, 
And  cleanse  the  system,  plainly  is  to  cure ! " 
Thus  shouts  the  doctor,  eloquent,  and  proud 
To  teach  his  "  science  "  to  the  gaping  crowd ; 
Like  "  Father  Mathew,"  eager  to  allure 
Afflicted  mortals  to  his  "  water-cure  "  1 

'T  is  thus  that  modern  "  sciences  "  are  made, 
By  bold  assumption,  puffing,  and  parade. 
Take  three  stale  "  truths  "  ;  a  dozen  "  facts,"  assumed  ; 
Two  known  "effects,"  and  fifty  more  presumed ; 
"  Affinities  "  a  score,  to  sense  unknown, 
And,  just  as  "  lucus,  non  lucendo  "  shown, 
Add  but  a  name  of  pompous  Anglo-Greek, 
And  only  not  impossible  to  speak, 
The  work  is  done  ;  a  "  science  "  stands  confest, 
And  countless  welcomes  greet  the  queenly  guest 

In  closest  girdle,  O  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping  shoes,10 
Prepare  to  follow  FASHION'S  gay  advance, 
And  thread  the  mazes  of  her  motley  dance  ; 
And,  marking  well  each  momentary  hue, 
And  transient  form,  that  meets  the  wondering  view, 
In  kindred  colors,  gentle  Muse,  essay 
Her  Protean  phases  fitly  to  portray. 
To-day,  she  slowly  drags  a  cumbrous  trail, 
And  "  Ton  "  rejoices  in  its  length  of  tail ; 
To-morrow,  changing  her  capricious  sport, 
She  trims  her  flounces  just  as  much  too  short ; 
To-day,  right  jauntily,  a  hat  she  wears 
That  scarce  affords  a  shelter  to  her  ears  ; 
To-morrow,  haply,  searching  long  in  vain, 
You  spy  her  features  down  a  Leghorn  lane  ; 


PROGRESS. 

To-day,  she  glides  along  with  queenly  grace, 
To-morrow,  ambles  in  a  mincing  pace. 
To-day,  erect,  she  loves  a  martial  air, 
And  envious  train-bands  emulate  the  fair  ; 
To-morrow,  changing  as  her  whim  may  serve, 
"  She  stoops  to  conquer  "  in  a  "  Grecian  curve."11 
To-day,  with  careful  negligence  arrayed 
In  scanty  folds,  of  woven  zephyrs  made, 
She  moves  like  Dian  in  her  woody  bowers, 
Or  Flora  floating  o'er  a  bed  of  flowers  ; 
To-morrow,  laden  with  a  motley  freight, 
Of  startling  bulk  and  formidable  weight, 
She  waddles  forth,  ambitious  to  amaze 
The  vulgar  crowd,  who  giggle  as  they  gaze  ! 

Despotic  Fashion  !  potent  is  her  sway, 
Whom  half  the  world  full  loyally  obey ; 
Kings  bow  submissive  to  her  stern  decrees, 
And  proud  Republics  bend  their  necks  and  knees ; 
Where'er  we  turn  the  attentive  eye,  is  seen 
The  worshipped  presence  of  the  modish  queen  ; 
In  Dress,  Philosophy,  Religion,  Art, 
Whate'er  employs  the  head,  or  hand,  or  heart. 

Is  some  fine  lady  quite  o'ercome  with  woes, 
From  an  unyielding  pimple  on  her  nose,  — 
Some  unaccustomed  "  buzzing  in  her  cars," 
Or  other  marvel  to  alarm  her  fears  ? 
Fashion,  with  skill  and  judgment  ever  nice, 
At  once  advises  "  medical  advice  "  ; 
Then  names  her  doctor,  who,  arrived  in  haste, 
Proceeds  accordant  with  the  laws  of  taste. 
If  real  ills  afflict  the  modish  dame, 
Her  blind  idolatry  is  still  the  same ; 


379 


380  PROGRESS. 

Less  grievous  far,  she  deems  it,  to  endure 

Genteel  malpractice,  than  a  vulgar  cure. 

If,  spite  of  gilded  pills  and  golden  fees, 

Her  dear  dyspepsia  grows  a  dire  disease, 

And  Doctor  DAPPER  proves  a  shallow  rogue, 

The  world  must  own  that  both  were  much  in  vogue ! 

What  impious  mockery,  when,  with  soulless  art, 
Fashion,  intrusive,  seeks  to  rule  the  heart  ! 
Directs  how  grief  may  tastefully  be  borne  ; 
Instructs  Bereavement  just  how  long  to  mourn  ; 
Shows  Sorrow  how  by  nice  degrees  to  fade, 
And  marks  its  measure  in  a  ribbon's  shade  ! 
More  impious  still,  when,  through  her  wanton  laws, 
She  desecrates  Religion's  sacred  cause  ; 
Shows  how  "  the  narrow  road  "  is  easiest  trod, 
And  how,  genteelest,  worms  may  worship  God  ; 
How  sacred  rites  may  bear  a  worldly  grace, 
And  self-abasement  wear  a  haughty  face  ; 
How  sinners,  long  in  Folly's  mazes  whirled, 
With  pomp  and  splendor  may  "  renounce  the  world  "  ; 
How,  "  with  all  saints  hereafter  to  appear," 
Yet  quite  escape  the  vulgar  portion  here  ! 

Imperial  Fashion !  her  impartial  care 
Things  most  momentous,  and  most  trivial,  share. 
Now  crushing  conscience  (her  invet'rate  foe), 
And  now  a  waist,  and  now,  perchance,  a  toe  ; 
At  once  for  pistols  and  "  the  Polka  "  votes, 
And  shapes  alike  our  characters  and  coats  ; 
The  gravest  question  which  the  world  divides, 
And  lightest  riddle,  in  a  breath  decides  : 
"  If  wrong  may  not,  by  circumstance,  be  right,"  — 
"  If  black  cravats  be  more  genteel  than  white,"  — 


PROGRESS.  381 

"  If  by  her  '  bishop,'  or  her  '  grace,'  alone, 
A  genuine  lady,  or  a  church,  is  known  "  ;  — 
Problems  like  these  she  solves  with  graceful  air, 
At  once  a  casuist  and  a  connoisseur  ! 

Does  some  sleek  knave,  whom  magic  money-bags 
Have  raised  above  his  fellow-knaves  in  rags, 
Some  willing  minion  of  unblushing  Vice, 
Who  boasts  that  "  Virtue  ever  has  her  price,"  — 
Does  he,  unpitying,  blast  thy  sister's  fame, 
Or  doom  thy  daughter  to  undying  shame, 
To  bow  her  head  beneath  the  eye  of  scorn, 
And  droop  and  wither  in  her  maiden  morn  ? 
Fashion  "  regrets,"  declares  "  't  was  very  wrong," 
And,  quite  dejected,  hums  an  opera  song  ! 
Impartial  friend  !  your  cause  to  her  appealed, 
Yourself  and  foe  she  summons  to  the  field, 
Where  Honor  carefully  the  case  observes, 
And  nicely  weighs  it  in  a  scale  of  nerves ! 
Despotic  rite  !  whose  fierce  vindictive  reign 
Boasts,  unrebuked,  its  countless  victims  slain, 
While  Christian  rulers,  recreant,  support 
The  pagan  honors  of  thy  bloody  court, 
And  "  Freedom's  champions  "  spurn  their  hallowed  trust, 
Kneel  at  thy  nod,  and  basely  lick  the  dust ! 

Degraded  Congress  !  once  the  honored  scene 
Of  patriot  deeds  ;  where  men  of  solemn  mien, 
In  virtue  strong,  in  understanding  clear, 
Earnest,  though  courteous,  arfd,  though  smooth,  sincere, 
To  gravest  counsels  lent  the  teeming  hours, 
And  gave  their  country  all  their  mighty  powers. 
But  times  are  changed  ;  a  rude,  degenerate  race 
Usurp  the  seats,  and  shame  the  sacred  place. 


382  PROGRESS. 

Here  plotting  demagogues  with  zeal  defend 

The  "  people's  rights,"  —  to  gain  some  private  end  ; 

Here  Southern  youths,  on  Folly's  surges  tost, 

Their  fathers'  wisdom  eloquently  boast ; 

(So  dowerless  spinsteis  proudly  number  o'er 

The  costly  jewels  that  their  grandams  wore.) 

Here  would-be  TULLYS  pompously  parade 

Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple  "  Buncombe  "  made,1* 

Full  on  the  chair  the  chilling  torrent  shower, 

And  work  their  word-pumps  through  the  allotted  hour. 

Deluded  "  Buncombe  !  "  while,  with  honest  praise, 

She  notes  each  grand  and  patriotic  phrase, 

And,  much  rejoicing  in  her  hopeful  son, 

Deems  all  her  own  the  laurels  he  has  won, 

She  little  dreams  how  brother  members  fled, 

And  left  the  house  as  vacant  as  his  head  ! 

Here  rural  CHATHAMS,  eager  to  attest 

The  "  growing  greatness  of  the  mighty  West," 

To  make  the  plainest  proposition  clear, 

Crack  PRISCIAN'S  head,  and  Mr.  SPEAKER'S  ear ; 

Then,  closing  up  in  one  terrific  shout, 

Pour  all  their  "  wild-cats  :'  furiously  out ! 

Here  lawless  boors  with  ruffian  bullies  vie, 

Who  last  shall  give  the  rude,  insulting  "  lie," 

While  "  Order  !  order  ! "  loud  the  chairman  calls, 

And  echoing  "  Order  ! "  eveiy  member  bawls  ; 

Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 

And  higher  still  in  fierce  envenomed  hate,13 

Retorted  blows  the  scene  of  riot  crown, 

And  big  LYCURGUS  knocks  the  lesser  down  ! 

Ye  honest  dames  in  frequent  proverbs  named, 
For  finest  fish  and  foulest  English  famed, 
Whose  matchless  tongues,  't  is  said,  were  never  heard 


PROGRESS. 

To  speak  a  flattering  or  a  feeble  word,  — 
Here  all  your  choice  invective  ye  might  urge 
Our  lawless  Solans  fittingly  to  scourge  ; 
Here,  in  congenial  company,  might  rail 
Till,  quite  worn  out,  your  creaking  voices  fail,  — 
Unless,  indeed,  for  once  compelled  to  yield 
In  wordy  strife,  ye  vanquished  quit  the  field  ! 

Hail,  Social  Progress  !  each  new  moon  is  rife 
With  some  new  theory  of  social  life, 
Some  matchless  scheme  ingeniously  designed 
From  half  their  miseries  to  free  mankind  ; 
On  human  wrongs  triumphant  war  to  wage, 
And  bring  anew  the  glorious  golden  age. 
"  Association  "  is  the  magic  word 
From  many  a  social  "  priest  and  prophet  "  heard, 
"  Attractive  Labor  "  is  the  angel  given, 
To  render  earth  a  sublunary  Heaven  ! 
"  Attractive  Labor  ! "  ring  the  changes  round, 
And  labor  grows  attractive  in  the  sound  ; 
And  many  a  youthful  mind,  where  haply  lurk 
Unwelcomed  fancies  at  the  name  of  "  work," 
Sees  pleasant  pastime  in  its  lorfging  view 
Of  "  toil  made  easy  "  and  "  attractive  "  too, 
And,  fancy-rapt,  -with  joyful  ardor,  turns 
Delightful  grindstones  and  seductive  churns  ! 
"  Men  are  not  bad,"  these  social  sages  preach  ; 
"  Men  are  not  what  their  actions  seem  to  teach  ; 
No  moral  ill  is  natural  or  fixed,  — 
Men  only  err  by  being  badly  mixed  !  " 
To  them  the  world  a  huge  plum-pudding  seems, 
Made  up  of  richest  viands,  fruits,  and  creams, 
Which  of  all  choice  ingredients  partook, 
And  then  was  ruined  by  a  blundering  cook ! 


333 


384  PROGRESS. 

Inventive  France  !  what  wonder-working  schemes 
Astbund  the  world  whene'er  a  Frenchman  dreams. 
What  fine-spun  theories,  —  ingenious,  new, 
Sublime,  stupendous,  everything  but  true  ! 
One  little  favor,  O  "  Imperial  France  "  ! 
Still  teach  the  world  to  cook,  to  dress,  to  dance  ; 
Let,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  boots  and  barbers  roam, 
But  keep  thy  morals  and  thy  creeds  at  home  ! 

O  might  the  Muse  prolong  her  flowing  rhyme, 
(Too  closely  cramped  by  unrelenting  Time, 
Whose  dreadful  scythe  swings  heedlessly  along, 
And,  missing  speeches,  clips  the  thread  of  song,) 
How  would  she  strive,  in  fitting  verse,  to  sing 
The  wondrous  Progress  of  the  Printing  King ! 
Bibles  and  Novels,  Treatises  and  Songs, 
Lectures  on  "  Rights,"  and  Strictures  upon  Wrongs  ; 
Verse  in  all  metres,  Travels  in  all  climes, 
Rhymes  without  reason,  Sonnets  without  rhymes  ; 
"  Translations  from  the  French,"  so  vilely  done, 
The  _ wheat  escaping  leaves  the  chaff  alone  ; 
Memoirs,  where  dunces  sturdily  essay 
To  cheat  Oblivion  of  h'er  certain  prey ; 
Critiques,  where  pedants  vauntingly  expose 
Unlicensed  verses,  in  unlawful  prose  ; 
Lampoons,  whose  authors  strive  in  vain  to  throw 
Their  headless  arrows  from  a  nerveless  bow ; 
Poems  by  youths,  who,  crossing  Nature's  will, 
Harangue  the  landscape  they  were  born  to  till ; 
Huge  tomes  of  Law,  that  lead  by  rugged  routes 
Through  ancient  dogmas  down  to  modern  doubts  ; 
Where  Judges  oft,  with  well-affected  ease, 
Give  learned  reasons  for  absurd  decrees, 
Or,  more  ingenious  still,  contrive  to  found 
Some  just  decision  on  fallacious  ground, 


PROGRESS. 

Or  blink  the  point,  and,  haply,  in  its  place, 

Moot  and  decide  some  hypothetic  case  ; 

Smart  Epigrams,  all  sadly  out  of  joint, 

And  pointless,  —  save  the  "  exclamation  point," 

Which  stands  in  state,  with  vacant  wonder  fraught, 

The  pompous  tombstone  of  some  pauper  thought ; 

Ingenious  systems  based  on  doubtful  facts, 

"  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  and  most  untimely  tracts ; 

Polemic  Pamphlets,  Literary  Toys, 

And  Easy  Lessons  for  uneasy  boys  ; 

Hebdomadal  Gazettes,  and  Daily  News, 

Gay  Magazines,  and  Quarterly  Reviews  ;  — 

Small  portion  these,  of  all  the  vast  array 

Of  darkened  leaves  that  cloud  each  passing  day, 

And  pour  their  tide  unceasingly  along, 

A  gathering,  swelling,  overwhelming  throng  ! 

Cease,  O  my  Muse,  nor,  indiscreet,  prolong 
To  epic  length  thy  unambitious  song. 
Good  friends,  be  gentle  to  a  maiden  Muse, 
Her  errors  pardon,  and  her  faults  excuse. 
Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came,14 
To  sue  for  favor,  not  to  seek  for  fame. 
Be  this,  at  least,  her  just  though  humble  praise  : 
No  stale  excuses  heralded  her  lays, 
No  singer's  trick,  —  conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough,  when  importuned  to  sing  ; 15 
No  deprecating  phrases,  learned  by  rote,  — 
"  She  'd  quite  forgot,"  or  "  never  knew  a  note,"  — 
But  to  her  task,  with  ready  zeal,  addressed 
Her  earnest  care,  and  aimed  to  do  her  best ; 
Strove  to  be  just  in  each  satiric  word, 
To  doubtful  wit  undoubted  truth  preferred, 
To  please  and  profit  equally  has  aimed, 
Nor  been  ill-natured  even  when  she  blamed. 


385 


386  THE  MONEY-KING. 


THE   MONEY-KING. 

A  POEM   DELIVERED   BEFORE  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY 
OF   YALE   COLLEGE,    1854. 

AS  landsmen,  sitting  in  luxurious  ease, 
Talk  of  the  dangers  of  the  stormy  seas  ; 
As  fireside  travellers,  with  portentous  mien, 
Tell  tales  of  countries  they  have  never  seen ; 
As  parlor-soldiers,  graced  with  fancy-scars, 
Rehearse  their  bravery  in  imagined  wars  ; 
As  arrant  dunces  have  been  known  to  sit 
In  grave  discourse  of  wisdom  and  of  wit ; 
As  paupers,  gathered  in  congenial  flocks, 
Babble  of  banks,  insurances,  and  stocks  ; 

?As  each  is  oftenest  eloquent  of  what 
He  hates  or  covets,  but  possesses  not ;  — 
As  cowards  talk  of  pluck  ;  misers,  of  waste  ; 
Scoundrels,  of  honor;  country  clowns,  of  taste;  — 
I  sing  of  MONEY  !  —  no  ignoble  theme, 
But  loftier  far  than  poetasters  dream, 
Whose  fancies,  soaring  to  their  native  moon, 
Rise  like  a  bubble  or  a  gay  balloon, 
Whose  orb  aspiring  takes  a  heavenward  flight, 
Just  in  proportion  as  it 's  thin  and  light  ! 

Kings  must  have  Poets.     From  the  earliest  times, 
Monarchs  have  loved  celebrity  in  rhymes  ; 
From  good  King  Robert,  who,  in  PetrarcKs  days, 
Taught  to  mankind  the  proper  use  of  bays, 
And,  singling  out  the  prince  of  Sonneteers, 
Twined  wreaths  of  laurel  round  his  blushing  ears  ; 


THE  MONEY-KING.  387 

Down  to  the  Queen,  who,  to  her  chosen  bard, 
In  annual  token  of  her  kind  regard, 
Sends  not  alone  the  old  poetic  greens, 
But,  like  a  woman  and  the  best  of  queens, 
Adds  to  the  leaves,  to  keep  them  fresh  and  fine, 
The  wholesome  moisture  of  a  pipe  of  wine  !  — 
So  may  her  minstrel,  crowned  with  royal  bays, 
Alternate  praise  her  pipe  and  pipe  her  praise  ! 
E'en  let  him  chant  his  smooth,  euphonious  lays  : 
A  loftier  theme  my  humbler  Muse  essays  ; 
A  mightier  monarch  be  it  hers  to  sing, 
And  claim  her  laurel  from  the  Money-King  ! 

Great  was  King  Alfred  ;  and  if  history  state 
His  actions  truly,  good  as  well  as  great. 
Great  was  the  Norman  ;  he  whose  martial  hordes 
Taught  law  and  order  to  the  Saxon  lords, 
With  gentler  thoughts  their  rugged  minds  imbued, 
And  raised  the  nation  whom  he  first  subdued. 
Great  was  King  Bess  !  —  I  see  the  critic  smile, 
As  though  the  Muse  mistook  her  proper  style  ; 
But  to  her  purpose  she  will  stoutly  cling, 
The  royal  maid  was  "  every  inch  a  King  "  ! 
Great  was  Napoleon,  —  and  I  would  that  fate 
Might  prove  his  namesake-nephew  half  as  great ; 
Meanwhile  this  hint  I  venture  to  advance  :  — - 
What  France  admires  is  good  enough  for  France  ! 
Great  princes  were  they  all  ;  but  greater  far 
Than  English  King,  or  mighty  Russian  Czar, 
Or  Pope  of  Rome,  or  haughty  Oueen  of  Spain, 
Baron  of  Germany,  or  Royal  Dane, 
Or  Gallic  Emperor,  or  Persian  Khan, 
Or  any  other  merely  mortal  man, 
Is  the  great  monarch  that  my  Muse  would  sing, 


3 88  THE  MONEY-KING. 

That  mighty  potentate,  the  Money- King  ! 

His  kingdom  vast  extends  o'er  every  land, 

And  nations  bow  before  his  high  command ; 

The  weakest  tremble,  and  his  power  obey, 

The  strongest  honor,  and  confess  his  sway. 

He  rules  the  Rulers  !  —  e'en  the  tyrant  Czar 

Asks  his  permission  ere  he  goes  to  war  ; 

The  Turk,  submissive  to  his  royal  might, 

By  his  decree  has  gracious  leave  to  fight ; 

Whilst  e'en  Britannia  makes  her  humblest  bow 

Before  her  Barings,  not  her  Barons  now, 

Or  on  the  Rothschild  suppliantly  calls 

(Her  affluent  "  uncle  "  with  the  golden  balls), 

Begs  of  the  Jew  that  he  will  kindly  spare 

Enough  to  put  her  trident  in  repair, 

And  pawns  her  diamonds,  while  she  humbly  craves 

The  Money- King's  consent  to  "rule  the  waves!" 

He  wears  no  crown  upon  his  royal  head, 
But  many  millions  in  his  purse,  instead  ; 
He  keeps  no  halls  of  state  ;  but  holds  his  court 
In  dingy  rooms  where  greed  and  thrift  resort ; 
In  iron  chests  his  wondrous  wealth  he  hoards  ; 
Banks  are  his  parlors  ;  brokers  are  his  lords, 
Bonds,  bills,  and  mortgages,  his  favorite  books, 
Gold  is  his  food,  and  coiners  are  his  cooks ; 
Ledgers  his  records  ;  stock  reports  his  news  ; 
Merchants  his  yeomen,  and  his  bondsmen  Jews  ; 
Kings  are  his  subjects,  gamblers  are  his  knaves, 
Spendthrifts  his  fools,  and  misers  are  his  slaves ! 
The  good,  the  bad,  his  golden  favor  prize, 
The  high,  the  low,  the  simple,  and  the  wise, 
The  young,  the  old,  the  stately,  and  the  gay,  — 
All  bow  obedient  to  his  royal  sway  ! 


THE  MONEY-KING. 

See  where,  afar,  the  bright  Pacific  shore 
Gleams  in  the  sun  with  sands  of  shining  ore, 
His  last,  great  empire  rises  to  the  view, 
And  shames  the  wealth  of  India  and  Peru  ! 
Here,  throned  within  his  gorgeous  "golden  gate," 
He  wields  his  sceptre  o'er  the  rising  State  ; 
Surveys  his  conquest  with  a  joyful  eye, 
Nor  for  a  greater  heaves  a  single  sigh ! 
Here,  quite  beyond  the  classic  poet's  dream, 
Pactolus  runs  in  every  winding  stream  ; 
The  mountain  cliffs  the  glittering  ore  enfold, 
And  every  reed  that  rustles  whispers,  "  gold  ! " 

If  to  his  sceptre  some  dishonor  clings, 
Why  should  we  marvel  ?  —  't  is  the  fate  of  kings  ! 
Their  power  too  oft  perverted  by  abuse, 
Their  manners  cruel,  or  their  morals  loose, 
The  best  at  times  have  wandered  far  astray 
From  simple  Virtue's  unseductive  way ; 
And  few,  of  all,  at  once  could  make  pretence 
To  royal  robes  and  rustic  innocence  ! 

He  builds  the  house  where  Christian  people  pray, 

And  rears  a  bagnio  just  across  the  way ; 

Pays  to  the  priest  his  stinted  annual  fee ; 

Rewards  the  lawyer  for  his  venal  plea  ; 

Sends  an  apostle  .to  the  heathen's  aid  ; 

And  cheats  the  Choctaws,  for  the  good  of  trade ; 

Lifts  by  her  heels  an  Ellsler  to  renown, 

Or,  bribing  "Jenny,"  brings  an  angel  down  ! 

He  builds  the  Theatres,  and  gambling  Halls, 
Lloyds  and  Almacks,  St.  Peter's  and  St.  Paul's  ; 
Sin's  gay  retreats,  and  Fashion's  gilded  rooms, 
Hotels  and  Factories,  Palaces  and  Tombs  ; 


390 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Bids  Commerce  spread  her  wings  to  every  gale ; 
Bends  to  the  breeze  the  pirate's  bloody  sail ; 
Helps  Science  seek  new  worlds  among  the  stars  ; 
Profanes  our  own  with  mercenary  wars  ; 
The  friend  of  wrong,  the  equal  friend  of  right, 
Oft  may  we  bless  and  oft  deplore  his  might, 
As  buoyant  hope  or  darkening  fears  prevail, 
And  good  or  evil  turns  the  moral  scale. 

All  fitting  honor  I  would  fain  accord, 
Whene'er  he  builds  a  temple  to  the  Lord  ; 
But  much  I  grieve  he  often  spends  his  pelf, 
As  it  were  raised  in  honor  of  himself ; 
Or,  what  were  worse,  and  more  profanely  odd, 
A  place  to  worship  some  Egyptian  god  ! 
I  wish  his  favorite  architects  were  graced 
With  sounder  judgment,  and  a  Christian  taste. 

Immortal  Wren  !  what  fierce,  convulsive  shocks 
Would  jar  thy  bones  within  their  leaden  box, 
Couldst  thou  but  look  across  the  briny  spray, 
And  see  some  churches  of  the  present  day  !  — 
The  lofty  dome  of  consecrated  bricks, 
Where  all  the  "  orders  "  in  disorder  mix, 
To  form  a  temple  whose  incongruous  frame 
Confounds  design  and  puts  the  Arts  to  shame  ! 
Where  "  styles  "  discordant  on  the  vision  jar, 
Where  Greek  and  Roman  are  again  at  war, 
And,  as  of  old,  the  unrelenting  Goth 
Comes  down  at  last  and  overwhelms  them  both  ! 

Once  on  a  time  I  heard  a  parson  say 
(Talking  of  churches  in  a  sprightly  way), 
That  there  was  more  Religion  in  the  walls 
Of  towering  "Trinity,"  or  grand  "  St.  Paul's," 


THE  MONEY-KING. 

Than  one  could  find,  upon  the  strictest  search, 

In  half  the  saints  within  the  Christian  Church ! 

A  layman  sitting  at  the  parson's  side 

To  this  new  dogma  thus  at  once  replied : 

"  If,  as  you  say,  Religion  has  her  home 

In  the  mere  walls  that  form  the  sacred  dome, 

It  seems  to  me  the  very  plainest  case, 

To  climb  the  steeple  were  a  growth  in  grace  ; 

And  he  to  whom  the  pious  strength  were  given 

To  reach  the  highest  were  the  nearest  Heaven  I 

I  thought  the  answer  just ;  and  yet  't  is  clear 

A  solemn  aspect,  grand  and  yet  severe, 

Becomes  the  house  of  God.     'T  is  hard  to  say 

Who  from  the  proper  mark  are  most  astray,  — 

They  who  erect,  for  holy  Christian  rites, 

A  gay  Pagoda  with  its  tinsel  lights, 

Or  they  who  offer  to  the  God  of  Love 

A  gorgeous  Temple  of  the  pagan  Jove  ! 

Immortal  Homer  and  Tassoni  sing 

What  vast  results  from  trivial  causes  spring  ; 

How  naughty  Helen  by  her  stolen  joy 

Brought  woe  and  ruin  to  unhappy  Troy  ; 

How,  for  a  bucket,  rash  Bologna  sold 

More  blood  and  tears  than  twenty  such  could  hold  ! 

Thy  power,  O  Money,  shows  results  as  strange 

As  aught  revealed  in  History's  widest  range  ; 

Thy  smallest  coin  of  shining  silver  shows 

More  potent  magic  than  a  conjurer  knows  ! 

In  olden  times,  —  if  classic  poets  say 
The  simple  truth,  as  poets  do  to-day,  — 
When  Charon's  boat  conveyed  a  spirit  o'er 
The  Lethean  water  to  the  Hadean  shore, 
The  fare  was  just  a  penny,  —  not  too  great, 


391 


392 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


The  moderate,  regular,  Stygian  statute  rate. 
Now,  for  a  shilling,  he  will  cross  the  stream, 
(His  paddles  whirling  to  the  force  of  steam  !) 
And  bring,  obedient  to  some  wizard  power, 
Back  to  the  Earth  more  spirits  in  an  hour, 
Than  Brooklyn's  famous  ferry  could  convey, 
Or  thine,  Hoboken,  in  the  longest  day  ! 
Time  was  when  men  bereaved  of  vital  breath 
Were  calm  and  silent  in  the  realms  of  Death  ; 
When  mortals  dead  and  decently  inurned 
Were  heard  no  more  ;  no  traveller  returned, 
Who  once  had  crossed  the  dark  Plutonian  strand, 
To  whisper  secrets  of  the  spirit-land,  — 
Save  when  perchance  some  sad,  unquiet  soul 
Among  the  tombs  might  wander  on  parole,  — 
A  well-bred  ghost,  at  night's  bewitching  noon, 
Returned  to  catch  some  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Wrapt  in  a  mantle  of  unearthly  white, 
(The  only  Crapping  of  an  ancient  sprite  !) 
Stalked  round  in  silence  till  the  break  of  day, 
Then  from  the  Earth  passed  unperceived  away ! 

Now  all  is  changed  :  the  musty  maxim  fails, 
And  dead  men  do  repeat  the  queerest  tales  1 
Alas,  that  here,  as  in  the  books,  we  see 
The  travellers  clash,  the  doctors  disagree  ! 
Alas,  that  all,  the  further  they  explore, 
For  all  their  search  are  but  confused  the  more  ! 

Ye  great  departed  !  —  men  of  mighty  mark,  — 
Bacon  and  Newton,  Adams,  Adam  Clarke, 
Edwards  and  Whitefield,  Franklin,  Robert  Hall, 
Calhoun,  Clay,  Channing,  Daniel  Webster,  —  all 
Ye  great  quit-tenants  of  this  earthly  ball,  — 
If  in  your  new  abodes  ye  cannot  rest, 
But  must  return,  O,  grant  us  this  request : 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


393 


Come  with  a  noble  and  celestial  air, 

To  prove  your  title  to  the  names  ye  bear  ! 

Give  some  clear  token  of  your  heavenly  birth  ;     . 

Write  as  good  English  as  ye  wrote  on  Earth  ! 

Show  not  to  all,  in  ranting  prose  and  verse, 

The  spirit's  progress  is  from  bad  to  worse  ; 

And,  what  were  once  superfluous  to  advise, 

Don't  tell,  I  beg  you,  such  egregious  lies  !  — 

Or  if  perchance  your  agents  are  to  blame, 

Don't  let  them  trifle  with  your  honest  fame  ; 

Let  chairs  and  tables  rest,  and  "  rap  "  instead, 

Ay,  "  knock  "  your  slippery  "  Mediums  "  on  the  head  ! 

What  direful  woes  the  hapless  man  attend, 
Who  in  the  means  see  life's  supremest  end  ; 
The  wretched  miser,  —  money's  sordid  slave,  — 
His  only  joy  to  gather  and  to  save. 
For  this  he  wakes  at  morning's  early  light, 
Toils  through  the  day,  and  ponders  in  the  night ; 
For  this,  —  to  swell  his  heap  of  tarnished  gold,  — 
Sweats  in  the  sun,  and  shivers  in  the  cold, 
And  suffers  more  from  hunger  every  day 
Than  the  starved  beggar  whom  he  spurns  away. 
Death  comes  erewhile  to  end  his  worldly  strife  ; 
With  all  his  saving  he  must  lose  his  life  ! 
Perchance  the  Doctor  might  protract  his  breath, 
And  stay  the  dreadful  messenger  of  death  ; 
But  none  is  there  to  comfort  or  advise  ; 
'T  would  cost  a  dollar  !  —  so  the  miser  dies. 

Sad  is  the  sight  when  Money's  power  controls 
In  wedlock's  chains  the  fate  of  human  souls. 
From  mine  to  mint,  curst  is  the  coin  that  parts 
In  helpless  grief  two  loving  human  hearts  ; 


394 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Or  joins  in  discord,  jealousy,  and  hate, 
A  sordid  suitor  to  a  loathing  mate  ! 

I  waive  the  case,  the  barren  case,  of  those 
Who  have  no  hearts  to  cherish  or  to  lose  ; 
Whose  wedded  state  is  but  a  bargain  made 
In  due  accordance  with  the  laws  of  trade  : 
When  the  prim  parson  joins  their  willing  hands, 
To  marry  City  lots  to  Western  lands, 
Or  in  connubial  ecstasy  to  mix 
Cash  and  "collateral,"  ten-per-cents  with  six, 
And  in  the  "  patent  safe  "  of  Hymen  locks 
Impassioned  dollars  with  enamored  stocks, 
Laugh  if  you  will,  —  and  who  can  well  refrain  ?  — 
But  waste  no  tears,  nor  pangs  of  pitying  pain  ; 
Hearts  such  as  these  may  play  the  queerest  pranks, 
But  never  break,  —  except  with  breaking  banks  ! 

Yet,  let  me  hint,  a  thousand  maxims  prove 
Plutus  may  be  the  truest  friend  to  Love. 
"  Love  in  a  cottage  "  cosily  may  dwell, 
But  much  prefers  to  have  it  furnished  well ! 
A  parlor  ample,  and  a  kitchen  snug, 
A  handsome  carpet,  an  embroidered  rug, 
A  well-stored  pantry,  and  a  tidy  maid, 
A  blazing  hearth,  a  cooling  window-shade, 
Though  merely  mortal,  money-purchased  things, 
Have  wondrous  power  to  clip  Love's  errant  wings  ! 

"  Love  in  a  cottage  "  is  n't  just  the  same 
When  wind  and  water  strive  to  quench  his  flame ; 
Too  oft  it  breeds  the  sharpest  discontent, 
That  puzzling  question,  "  How  to  pay  the  rent " ; 
A  smoky  chimney  may  alone  suffice 
To  dim  the  radiance  of  the  fondest  eyes  ; 
A  northern  blast,  beyond  the  slightest  doubt, 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


395 


May  fairly  blow  the  torch  of  Hymen  out ; 

And  I  have  heard  a  worthy  matron  hold 

(As  one  who  knew  the  truth  of  what  she  told), 

Love  once  was  drowned,  though  reckoned  waterproof, 

By  the  mere  dripping  of  a  leaky  roof ! 

Full  many  a  wise  philosopher  has  tried 

Mankind  in  fitting  orders  to  divide  ; 

And  by  their  forms,  their  fashions,  and  their  face, 

To  group,  assort,  and  classify  the  race. 

One  would  distinguish  people  by  their  books  ; 

Another,  quaintly,  solely  by  their  cooks  ; 

And  one,  who  graced  the  philosophic  bench, 

Found  these  three  classes,— "women,  men,  and  French  ! 

The  best  remains,  of  all  that  I  have  known, 

A  broad  distinction,  brilliant,  and  my  own,  — 

Of  all  mankind,  I  classify  the  lot :  — 

Those  who  have  Money,  and  those  who  have  not  / 

Think'st  thou  the  line  a  poet's  fiction  ?  —  then 
Go  look  abroad  upon  the  ways  of  men  ! 
Go  ask  the  banker,  with  his  golden  seals  ; 
Go  ask  the  borrower,  cringing  at  his  heels  ; 
Go  ask  the  maid,  who,  emulous  of  woe, 
Discards  the  worthier  for  the  wealthier  beau  ; 
Go  ask  the  Parson,  when  a  higher  prize 
Points  with  the  salary  where  his  duty  lies  ; 
Go  ask  the  Lawyer,  who,  in  legal  smoke, 
Stands,  like  a  stoker,  redolent  of  "  Coke," 
And  swings  his  arms  to  emphasize  a  plea 
Made  doubly  ardent  by  a  golden  fee  ; 
Go  ask  the  Doctor,  who  has  kindly  sped 
Old  Crcesus,  dying  on  a  damask  bed, 
While  his  poor  neighbor  —  wonderful  to  tell  — 


396  THE  MONEY-ICING. 

Was  left  to  Nature,  suffered,  and  got  well  ! 
Go  ask  the  belle,  in  high  patrician  pride, 
Who  spurns  the  maiden  nurtured  at  her  side, 
Her  youth's  loved  playmate  at  the  village-school, 
Ere  changing  fortune  taught  the  rigid  rule 
Which  marks  the  loftier  from  the  lowlier  lot,  — 
Those  who  have  money  from  those  who  have  not ! 

Of  all  the  ills  that  owe  their  baneful  rise 
To  wealth  o'ergrown,  the  most  despotic  vice 
Is  Circean  Luxury  ;  prolific  dame 
Of  mental  impotence,  and. moral  shame, 
And  all  the  cankering  evils  that  debase 
The  human  form,  and  dwarf  the  human  race. 

See  yon  strange  figure,  and  a  moment  scan 
That  slenderest  sample  of  the  genus  man ! 
Mark,  as  he  ambles,  those  precarious  pegs 
Which  by  their  motion  must  be  deemed  his  legs  ! 
He  has  a  head,  —  one  may  be  sure  of  that 
By  just  observing  that  he  wears  a  hat ; 
That  he  has  arms  is  logically  plain 
From  his  wide  coat-sleeves  and  his  pendant  cane  ; 
A  tongue  as  well,  —  the  inference  is  fair, 
Since,  on  occasion,  he  can  lisp  and  swear. 
You  ask  his  use  ?  —  that 's  not  so  very  clear, 
Unless  to  spend  five  thousand  pounds  a  year 
In  modish  vices  which  his  soul  adores, 
Drink,  dress,  and  gaming,  horses,  hounds,  and  scores 
Of  other  follies  which  I  can't  rehearse, 
Dear  to  himself  and  dearer  to  his  purse. 

No  product  he  of  Fortune's  fickle  dice, 
The  due  result  of  Luxury  and  Vice, 
Three  generations  have  sufficed  to  bring 


THE  MONEY-KING. 

That  narrow-chested,  pale,  enervate  thing 
Down  from  a  man,  —  for,  marvel  as  you  will, 
His  huge  great-grandsire  fought  on  Bunker  Hill ! 
Bore,  without  gloves,  a  musket  through  the  war ; 
Came  back  adorned  with  many  a  noble  scar  ; 
Labored  and  prospered  at  a  thriving  rate, 
And,  dying,  left  his  heir  a  snug  estate,  — 
Which  grew  apace  upon  his  busy  hands, 
Stocks,  ships,  and  factories,  tenements  and  lands, 
All  here  at  last,  —  the  money  and  the  race,  — 
The  latter  ending  in  that  foolish  face  ; 
The  former  wandering,  far  beyond  his  aim, 
Back  to  the  rough  plebeians  whence  it  came  ! 

Enough  of  censure  ;  let  my  humble  lays 
Employ  one  moment  in  congenial  praise. 
Let  other  pens  with  pious  ardor  paint 
The  selfish  virtues  of  the  cloistered  saint ; 
In  lettered  marble  let  the  stranger  read 
Of  him  who,  dying,  did  a  worthy  deed, 
And  left  to  charity  the  cherished  store 
Which,  to  his  sorrow,  he  could  hoard  no  more. 
I  venerate  the  nobler  man  who  gives 
His  generous  dollars  while  the  donor  lives  ; 
Gives  with  a  heart  as  liberal  as  the  palms 
That  to  the  needy  spread  his  honored  alms  ; 
Gives  with  a  head  whose  yet  unclouded  light 
To  worthiest  objects  points  the  giver's  sight ; 
Gives  with  a  hand  still  potent  to  enforce 
His  well-aimed  bounty,  and  direct  its  course  ;  — 
Such  is  the  giver  who  must  stand  confest 
In  giving  glorious,  and  supremely  blest! 
One  such  as  this  the  captious  world  could  find 
In  noble  Perkins,  angel  of  the  blind  ; 


397 


398  THE  MONEY-KING. 

One  such  as  this  in  princely  Lawrence  shone, 
Ere  heavenly  kindred  claimed  him  for  their  own  ! 

To  me  the  boon  may  gracious  Heaven  assign,  — 
No  cringing  suppliant  at  Mammon's  shrine, 
Nor  slave  of  Poverty,  —  with  joy  to  share 
The  happy  mean  expressed  in  Agur's  prayer :  — 
A  house  (my  own)  to  keep  me  safe  and  warm, 
A  shade  in  sunshine,  and  a  shield  in  storm ; 
A  generous  board,  and  fitting  raiment,  clear 
Of  debts  and  duns  throughout  the  circling  year ; 
Silver  and  gold,  in  moderate  store,  that  I 
May  purchase  joys  that  only  these  can  buy  ; 
Some  gems  of  art,  a  cultured  mind  to  please, 
Books,  pictures,  statues,  literary  ease. 
That  "  Time  is  Money  "  prudent  Franklin  shows 
In  rhyming  couplets,  and  sententious  prose. 
O,  had  he  taught  the  world,  in  prose  and  rhyme, 
The  higher  truth  that  Money  may  be  Time! 
And  showed  the  people,  in  his  pleasant  ways, 
The  art  of  coining  dollars  into  days ! 
Days  for  improvement,  days  for  social  life, 
Days  for  your  God,  your  children,  and  your  wife ; 
Some  days  for  pleasure,  and  an  hour  to  spend 
In  genial  converse  with  an  honest  friend. 
Such  days  be  mine  !  —  and  grant  me,  Heaven,  but  this, 
With  blooming  health,  man's  highest  earthly  bliss,  — 
And  I  will  read,  without  a  sigh  or  frown, 
The  startling  news  that  stocks  are  going  down  ; 
Hear  without  envy  that  a  stranger  hoards 
Or  spends  more  treasure  than  a  mint  affords  ; 
See  my  next  neighbor  pluck  a  golden  plum, 
Calm  and  content  within  my  cottage-home  ; 
Take  for  myself  what  honest  thrift  may  bring, 
And  for  his  kindness,  bless  the  Money- King! 


EXCERPTS  FROM  OCCASIONAL 
POEMS. 


EXCERPTS   FROM   OCCASIONAL 
POEMS. 


EL    DORADO. 

LET  others,  dazzled  by  the  shining  ore, 
Delve  in  the  dirt  to  gather  golden  store. 
Let  others,  patient  of  the  menial  toil 
And  daily  suffering,  seek  the  precious  spoil ; 
No  hero  I,  in  such  a  cause  to  brave 
Hunger  and  pain,  the  robber  and  the  grave. 
I  '11  work,  instead,  exempt  from  hate  and  harm, 
The  fruitful  "  placers  "  of  my  mountain-farm, 
Where  the  bright  ploughshare  opens  richest  veins,' 
From  whence  shall  issue  countless  golden  grains, 
Which  in  the  fulness  of  the  year  shall  come, 
In  bounteous  sheaves,  to  bless  my  harvest-home  ! 

But,  haply,  good  may  come  of  mining  yet : 
'T  will  help  to  pay  the  nation's  foreign  debt ; 
'T  will  further  liberal  arts  ;  plate  rings  and  pins, 
Gild  books  and  coaches,  mirrors,  signs,  and  sins  ; 
'T  will  cheapen  pens  and  pencils,  and  perchance 
May  give  us  honest  dealing  for  Finance  ! 
(That  magic  art,  unknown  to  darker  times 
When  fraud  and  falsehood  were  reputed  crimes, 
Whose  curious  laws  with  nice  precision  teach 


402 


THE   GOOD    TIME   COMING. 


How  whole  estates  are  made  from  parts  of  speech  ; 

How  lying  rags  for  honest  coin  shall  pass, 

And  foreign  gold  be  paid  in  native  brass  !) 

'T  will  save,  perhaps,  each  deep-indebted  State 

From  all  temptation  to  "  repudiate," 

Till  Time  restore  our  precious  credit  lost, 

And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymley's  ghost ! w 


THE    GOOD    TIME    COMING. 

WHILE  drones  and  dreaming  optimists  protest, 
" The  worst  is  well,  and  all  is  for  the  best" ; 
And  sturdy  croakers  chant  the  counter  song, 
That  "man  grows  worse,  and  everything  is  wrong"; 
Truth,  as  of  old,  still  loves  a  golden  mean, 
And  shuns  extremes  to  walk  erect  between  ! 
The  world  improves  ;  with  slow,  unequal  pace, 
"The  Good  Time 's  coming  "  to  our  hapless  race. 
The  general  tide  beneath  the  refluent  surge 
Rolls  on,  resistless,  to  its  destined  verge ! 
Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose  " 
As  stubborn  walls  to  geographic  foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either  side. 
Promethean  Science,  with  untiring  eye 
Searching  the  mysteries  of  the  earth  and  sky ; 
And  cunning  Art,  with  strong  and  plastic  hand 
To  work  the  marvels  Science  may  command  ; 
And  broad-winged  Commerce,  swift  to  carry  o'er 
Earth's  countless  blessings  to  her  farthest  shore,  — 
These,  and  no  German  nor  Genevan  sage, 
These  are  the  great  reformers  of  the  age ! 


THE  POWER-PRESS.  403 

See  Art,  exultant  in  her  stately  car, 
On  Nature's  Titans  wage  triumphant  war  ! 
While  e'en  the  Lightnings  by  her  wondrous  skill 
Are  tamed  for  heralds  of  her  sovereign  will ! 
Old  Ocean's  breast  a  new  invader  feels, 
And  heaves  in  vain  to  clog  her  iron  wheels ; 
In  vain  the  Forests  marshal  all  their  force, 
And  Mountains  rise  to  stay  her  onward  course  : 
From  out  her  path  each  bold  opposer  hurled, 
She  throws  her  girdle  round  a  captive  world ! 


THE    POWER-PRESS. 

STRANGE  is  the  sound  when  first  the  notes  begin 
Where  human  voices  blend  with  Vulcan's  din  ; 
The  click,  the  clank,  the  clangor,  and  the  sound 
Of  rattling  rollers  in  their  rapid  round  ; 
The  whizzing  belt,  the  sharp  metallic  jar, 
Like  clashing  spears  in  fierce  chivalric  war ; 
The  whispering  birth  of  myriad  flying  leaves, 
Gathered,  anon,  in  countless  motley  sheaves, 
Then  scattered  far,  as  on  the  winge"d  wind, 
The  mortal  nurture  of  th'  immortal  mind ! 


404  THE  LIBRARY. 


THE    LIBRARY. 

T  T  ERE,  e'en  the  sturdy  democrat  may  find, 

•*•  -*-    Nor  scorn  their  rank,  the  nobles  of  the  mind ; 

While  kings  may  learn,  nor  blush  at  being  shown, 

How  Learning's  patents  abrogate  their  own. 

A  goodly  company  and  fair  to  see  ; 

Royal  plebeians  ;  earls  of  low  degree  ; 

Beggars  whose  wealth  enriches  every  clime  ; 

Princes  who  scarce  can  boast  a  mental  dime ; 

Crowd  here  together  like  the  quaint  array 

Of  jostling  neighbors  on  a  market  day. 

Homer  and  Milton,  —  can  we  call  them  blind?  — 

Of  godlike  sight,  the  vision  of  the  mind  ; 

Shakespeare,  who  calmly  looked  creation  through, 

"  Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  imagined  new  "  ; 

Plato  the  sage,  so  thoughtful  and  serene, 

He  seems  a  prophet  by  his  heavenly  mien  ; 

Shrewd  Socrates,  whose  philosophic  power 

Xantippe  proved  in  many  a  trying  hour ; 

And  Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 

In  vain  endeavor  to  be-"  cloud  "  the  sun  ; 18 

Majestic  yEschylus,  whose  glowing  page 

Holds  half  the  grandeur  of  the  Athenian  stage ; 

Pindar,  whose  odes,  replete  with  heavenly  fire, 

Proclaim  the  master  of  the  Grecian  lyre  ; 

Anacreon,  famed  for  many  a  luscious  line 

Devote  to  Venus  and  the  god  of  wine. 

I  love  vast  libraries  ;  yet  there  is  a  doubt 
If  one  be  better  with  them  or  without,  — 
Unless  he  use  them  wisely,  and,  indeed, 


4°5 


THE  NEWS. 

Knows  the  high  art  of  what  and  how  to  read. 
At  Learning's  fountain  it  is  sweet  to  drink, 
But  't  is  a  nobler  privilege  to  think  ; 
And  oft,  from  books  apart,  the  thirsting  mind 
May  make  the  nectar  which  it  cannot  find. 
'T  is  well  to  borrow  from  the  good  and  great ; 
'T  is  wise  to  learn  ;  't  is  godlike  to  create  ! 


THE   NEWS. 

THE  News,  indeed !  —  pray  do  you  call  it  news 
When  shallow  noddles  publish  shallow  views  ? 
Pray,  is  it  news  that  turnips  should  be  bred 
As  large  and  hollow  as  the  owner's  head  ? 
News,  that  a  clerk  should  rob  his  master's  hoard, 
Whose  meagre  salary  scarcely  pays  his  board  ? 
News,  that  two  knaves,  their  spurious  friendship  o'er, 
Should  tell  the  truths  which  they  concealed  before  ? 
News,  that  a  maniac,  weary  of  his  life, 
Should  end  his  sorrows  with  a  rope  or  knife  ? 
News,  that  a  wife  should  violate  the  vows 
That  bind  her,  loveless,  to  a  tyrant  spouse  ? 
News,  that  a  daughter  cheats  paternal  rule, 
And  weds  a  scoundrel  to  escape  a  fool?  — 
The  news,  indeed  !  —  Such  matters  are  as  old 
As  sin  and  folly,  rust  and  must  and  mould ! 


406  THE  EDITOR1  S  SANCTUM. 


THE   EDITOR'S    SANCTUM. 

SCENE,  —  a  third  story  in  a  dismal  court, 
Where  weary  printers  just  at  eight  resort ; 
A  dingy  door  that  with  a  rattle  shuts  ; 
Heaps  of  "Exchanges,"  much  adorned  with  "cuts"; 
Pens,  paste,  and  paper  on  the  table  strewed  ; 
Books,  to  be  read  when  they  have  been  reviewed  ; 
Pamphlets  and  tracts  so  very  dull  indeed 
That  only  they  who  wrote  them  e'er  will  read  ; 
Nine  letters,  touching  themes  of  every  sort, 
And  one  with  money,  —  just  a  shilling  short,  — 
Lie  scattered  round  upon  a  common  level. 
PERSONS  —  the  Editor  ;  enter,  now,  the  Devil :  — 
"  Please,  sir,  since  this  'ere  article  was  wrote, 
There  's  later  news  perhaps  you  'd  like  to  quote : 
The  Rebels  storming  with  prodigious  force, 
' Sumter  has  fallen ! '"    " Set  it  up,  of  course." 
"  And,  sir,  that  murder  's  done  —  there  's  only  left 
One  larceny."     "Pray  don't  omit  the  theft." 
"  And,  sir,  about  the  mob  —  the  matter 's  fat  "  — 
"  The  mob  ?  —  that 's  wrong — pray  just  distribute  that." 
Exit  the  imp  of  Faust,  and  enter  now 
A  fierce  subscriber  with  a  scowling  brow. 
"  Sir,  curse  your  paper !  —  send  the  thing  to  —       Well, 
The  place  he  names  were  impolite  to  tell ; 
Enough  to  know  the  hero  of  the  Press 
Cries  :  "  Thomas,  change  the  gentleman's  address  ! 
We  '11  send  the  paper,  if  the  post  will  let  it, 
Wrhere  the  subscriber  will  be  sure  to  get  it !  " 

Who  would  not  be  an  Editor  ?  —  To  write 
The  magic  "  we  "  of  such  enormous  might ; 


THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM. 


407 


To  be  so  great  beyond  the  common  span 

It  takes  the  plural  to  express  the  man ; 

And  yet,  alas,  it  happens  oftentimes 

A  unit  serves  to  number  all  his  dimes  ! 

But  don't  despise  him  ;  there  may  chance  to  be 

An  earthquake  lurking  in  his  simple  "  we" ! 

In  the  close  precincts  of  a  dusty  room 
That  owes  few  losses  to  the  lazy  broom, 
There  sits  the  man  ;  you  do  not  know  his  name, 
Brown,  Jones,  or  Johnson,  —  it  is  all  the  same,  — 
Scribbling  away  at  what  perchance  may  seem 
An  idler's  musing,  or  a  dreamer's  dream  ; 
His  pen  runs  rambling,  like  a  straying  steed  ; 
The  "we"  he  writes  seems  very  "wee"  indeed  ; 
But  mark  the  change ;  behold  the  wondrous  power 
Wrought  by  the  Press  in  one  eventful  hour ; 
To-night,  't  is  harmless  as  a  maiden's  rhymes  ; 
To-morrow,  thunder  in  the  London  Times  / 
The  ministry  dissolves  that  held  for  years  ; 
Her  Grace,  the  Duchess,  is  dissolved  in  tears  ; 
The  Rothschilds  quail  ;  the  church,  the  army,  quakes  ; 
The  very  kingdom  to  its  centre  shakes  ; 
The  Corn  Laws  fall ;  the  price  of  bread  comes  down, — 
Thanks  to  the  "we"  of  Johnson,  Jones,  or  Brown! 


TRAVESTIES. 


if, 


TRA  VESTI  ES. 


ICARUS. 

I. 

ALL  modern  themes  of  poesy  are  spun  so  very  fine, 
That  now  the  most  amusing  muse,  e  gratia,  such 

as  mine, 
Is  often  forced  to-cut  the  thread  that  strings  our  recent 

rhymes, 
And  try  the  stronger  staple  of  the  good  old  classic  times. 

II. 

There  lived  and  nourished  long  ago,  in  famous  Athens 

town, 

One  Dcedalus,  a  carpenter  of  genius  and  renown  ; 
('T  was  he  who  with  an  anger  taught  mechanics  how  to 

bore,  — 
An  art  which  the  philosophers  monopolized  before.) 

III. 

His  only  son  was  Icarus,  a  most  precocious  lad, 
The  pride  of  Mrs.  Daedalus,  the  image  of  his  dad ; 
And  while  he  yet  was  in  his  teens  such  progress  he  had 

made, 
He  'd  got  above  his  father's  size,  and  much  above  his 

trade. 


4i2  ICARUS. 

IV. 

Now  Dadalus,  the  carpenter,  had  made  a  pair  of  wings, 
Contrived  of  wood  and  feathers  and  a  cunning  set  of 

springs, 
By  means  of  which  the  wearer  could  ascend  to  any 

height, 
And  sail  about  among  the  clouds  as  easy  as  a  kite  ! 


v. 

"  O  father,"  said  young  Icarus,  "  how  I  should  like  to 

fly! 

And  go  like  you  where  all  is  blue  along  the  upper  sky  ; 
How  very  charming  it  would  be  above  the  moon  to 

climb, 
And  scamper  through  the  Zodiac,  and  have  a  high  old 

time  ! 

VI. 

"  O  would  n't  it  be  jolly,  though,  —  to  stop  at  all  the 

inns ; 
To  take  a  luncheon  at  '  The  Crab,'  and  tipple  at  '  The 

Twins' ; 
And,  just  for  fun  and  fancy,  while  careering  through  the 

air, 
To  kiss  the  Virgin,  tease  the  Ram,  and  bait  the  biggest 

Bear? 

VII. 

"  O  father,  please  to  let  me  go ! "  was  still  the  urchin's 

cry; 
"  I  '11  be  extremely  careful,  sir,  and  won't  go  very  high  ; 

0  if  this  little  pleasure-trip  you  only  will  allow, 

1  promise  to  be  back  again  in  time  to  fetch  the  cow ! " 


ICARUS. 


413 


VIII. 

"You  're  rather  young,"  said  Dcedalus,  "to  tempt  the 

upper  air  ; 
But  take  the  wings,  and  mind  your  eye  with  very  special 

care  ; 
And  keep  at  least  a  thousand  miles  below  the  nearest 

star  ; 
Young  lads,  when  out  upon  a  lark,  are  apt  to  go  too 

far  !  " 

IX. 

He  took  the  wings  —  that  foolish  boy  —  without  the 
least  dismay 

(His  father  stuck  'em  on  with  wax)  and  so  he  soared 
away  ; 

Up,  up  he  rises,  like  a  bird,  and  not  a  moment  stops 

Until  he  's  fairly  out  of  sight  beyond  the  mountain- 
tops  ! 

X. 

And  still  he  flies  —  away  —  away  ;  it  seems  the  merest 

fun ; 

No  marvel  he  is  getting  bold,  and  aiming  at  the  sun  ; 
No  marvel  he  forgets  his  sire ;  it  is  n't  very  odd 
That  one  so  far  above  the  earth  should  think  himself  a 

god! 

XI. 

Already,  in  his  silly  pride,  he  's  gone  too  far  aloft ; 

The  heat  begins  to  scorch  his  wings  ;  the  wax  is  wax- 
ing soft  ; 

Down  —  down  he  goes  !  —  Alas  !  —  next  day  poor  Icarus 
was  found 

Afloat  upon  the  vEgean  Sea,  extremely  damp  and 
drowned  ! 


414 


P  VRAM  US  AND    Till  SEE. 


L '  E  N  V  O  I . 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale  is  plain  enough  to 
all:  — 

Don't  get  above  your  proper  sphere,  or  you  may  chance 
to  fall ; 

Remember,  too,  that  borrowed  plumes  are  most  uncer- 
tain things  ; 

And  never  try  to  scale  the  sky  with  other  people's 
wings  ! 


PYRAMUS    AND    THISBE. 

THIS  tragical  tale,  which,  they  say,  is  a  true  one, 
Is  old,  but  the  manner  is  wholly  a  new  one. 
One  Ovid,  a  writer  of  some  reputation, 
Has  told  it  before  in  a  tedious  narration  ; 
In  a  style,  to  be  sure,  of  remarkable  fulness, 
But  which  nobody  reads  on  account  of  its  dulness. 

Young  PETER  PYRAMUS,  —  /  call  him  Peter, 
Not  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  or  metre, 
But  merely  to  make  the  name  completer,  — 
For  PETER  lived  in  the  olden  times, 
And  in  one  of  the  worst  of  Pagan  climes 
That  flourish  now  in  classical  fame, 

Long  before 

Either  noble  or  boor 

Had  such  a  thing  as  a  Christian  name,  — 
Young  PETER  then  was  a  nice  young  beau 
As  any  young  lady  would  wish  to  know  ; 

In  years,  I  ween, 

He  was  rather  green, 
That  is  to  say,  he  was  just  eighteen,  — 


PYRAMUS  AND    THISBE.  4It 

A  trifle  too  short,  and  a  shaving  too  lean, 
But  "  a  nice  young  man  "  as  ever  was  seen, 
And  fit  to  dance  with  a  May-day  queen ! 

Now  PETER  loved  a  beautiful  girl 
As  ever  ensnared  the  heart  of  an  earl 
In  the  magical  trap  of  an  auburn  curl,  — 
A  little  Miss  THISBE  who  lived  next  door, 
(They  slept  in  fact  on  the  very  same  floor, 
With  a  wall  between  them,  and  nothing  more,  -— 
Those  double  dwellings  were  common  or  yore,) 
And  they  loved  each  other,  the  legends  -suy, 
In  that  very  beautiful,  bountiful  way, 

That  every  young  maid, 

And  every  young  blade, 
Are  wont  to  do  before  they  grow  staid, 
And  learn  to  love  by  the  laws  of  trade. 
But  alack-a-day  for  the  girl  and  boy, 
A  little  impediment  checked  their  joy, 
And  gave  them,  a  while,  the  deepest  annoy. 
For  some  good  reason,  which  history  cloaks, 
The  match  did  n't  happen  to  please  the  old  folks  ! 

So  THISBE'S  father  and  PETER'S  mother 
Began  the  young  couple  to  worry  and  bother, 
And  tried  their  innocent  passions  to  smother 
By  keeping  the  lovers  from  seeing  each  other ! 

But  who  ever  heard  • 

Of  a  marriage  deterred, 

Or  even  deferred, 

By  any  contrivance  so  very  absurd 
As  scolding  the  boy,  and  caging  his  bird  ? 

Now  PETER,  who  was  n't  discouraged  at  all 
By  obstacles  such  as  the  timid  appall, 


4i  6  P  VRAM  US  AND    THISBE. 

Contrived  to  discover  a  hole  in  the  wall, 
Which  was  n't  so  thick 
But  removing  a  brick 

Made  a  passage,  —  though  rather  provokingly  small. 
Through  this  little  chink  the  lover  could  greet  her, 
And  secrecy  made  their  courting  the  sweeter, 
While  PETER  kissed  THISBE,  and  THISBE  kissed  PE- 
TER,— 

For  kisses,  like  folks  with  diminutive  souls,  i 

Will  manage  to  creep  through  the  smallest  of  holes ! 

'T  was  here  that  the  lovers,  intent  upon  love, 

Laid  a  nice  little  plot 

To  meet  at  a  spot 
Near  a  mulberry-tree  in  a  neighboring  grove ; 

For  the  plan  was  all  laid 

By  the  youth  and  the  maid, 
(Whose  hearts,  it  would  seem,  were  uncommonly  bold 

ones,) 
To  run  off  and  get  married  in  spite  of  the  old  ones. 

In  the  shadows  of  evening,  as  still  as  a  mouse, 
The  beautiful  maiden  slipt  out  of  the  house, 
The  mulberry-tree  impatient  to  find, 
While  PETER,  the  vigilant  matrons  to  blind, 
Strolled  leisurely  out  some  minutes  behind. 
While  waiting  alone  by  the  trysting  tree, 
'  A  terrible  lion 

As  e'er  you  set  eye  on 
Came  roaring  along  quite  horrid  to  see, 
And  caused  the  young  maiden  in  terror  to  flee, 
(A  lion  's  a  creature  whose  regular  trade  is 
Blood,  —  and  "  a  terrible  thing  among  ladies,") 
And  losing  her  veil  as  she  ran  from  the  wood, 
The  monster  bedabbled  it  over  with  blood. 


PYRAMUS  AND    THISBE.  4^ 

Now  PETER  arriving,  and  seeing  the  veil 

All  covered  o'er 

And  reeking  with  gore, 
Turned  all  of  a  sudden  exceedingly  pale, 
And  sat  himself  down  to  weep  and  to  wail, — 
For,  soon  as  he  saw  the  garment,  poor  PETER 
Made  up  his  mind,  in  very  short  metre, 
That  THISBE  was  dead,  and  the  lion  had  eat  her ! 

So  breathing  a  prayer, 

He  determined  to  share 

The  fate  of  his  darling,  "  the  loved  and  the  lost, " 
And  fell  on  his  dagger,  and  gave  up  the  ghost ! 

Now  THISBE  returning,  and  viewing  her  beau, 

Lying  dead  by  the  veil  (which  she  happened  to  know), 

She  guessed,  in  a  moment,  the  cause  of  his  erring, 

And  seizing  the  knife 

Which  had  taken  his  life, 
In  less  than  a  jiffy  was  dead  as  a  herring ! 

MORAL. 

Young  gentlemen !  pray  recollect,  if  you  please, 
Not  to  make  assignations  near  mulberry-trees  ; 
Should  your  mistress  be  missing,  it  shows  a  weak  head 
To  be  stabbing  yourself  till  you  know  she  is  dead. 

Young  ladies  !  you  should  n't  go  strolling  about 
When  your  anxious  mammas  don't  know  you  are  out, 
And  remember  that  accidents  often  befall 
From  kissing  young  fellows  through  holes  in  the  wall ! 


4i8  THE   CHOICE   OF  KING  MIDAS. 


THE    CHOICE    OF    KING    MIDAS. 

ING  MIDAS,  prince  of  Phrygia,  several  thousand 

years  ago, 
Was  a  very  worthy  monarch,  as   the   classic  annals 

show; 
You  may  read  'em  at  your  leisure,  when  you  have  a 

mind  to  doze, 
In  the  finest  Latin  verses,  or  in  choice  Hellenic  prose. 

Now  this  notable  old  monarch,  King  of  Phrygia,  as 

aforesaid 
(Of  whose  royal  state  and  character  there  might  be 

vastly  more  said), 

Though  he  occupied  a  palace,  kept  a  very  open  door, 
And  had  still  a  ready  welcome  for  the  stranger  and  the 

poor. 

Now  it  chanced  that  old  Si/enus,  who,  it  seems,  had 

lost  his  way, 
Following  Bacchus  through  the  forest,  in  the  pleasant 

month  of  May 

(Which  was  n't  very  singular,  for  at  the  present  day 
The  followers  of  Bacchus  very  often  go  astray), 

Came  at  last  to  good  King  MIDAS,  who  received  him 

in  his  court, 
Gave    him    comfortable    lodgings,   and  —  to    cut    the 

matter  short  — 

With  as  much  consideration  treated  weary  old  Silcmis, 
As  if  the  entertainment  were  for  Mercury  or  Venus. 


THE   CHOICE   OF  KING  MIDAS. 


419 


Now  when  Bacchus  heard  the  story,  he  proceeded  to 
the  king, 

And  says  he  :  "  By  old  Silenus  you  have  done  the  hand- 
some thing ; 

He  's  my  much-respected  tutor,  who  has  taught  me  how 
to  read, 

And  I  'm  sure  your  royal  kindness  should  receive  its 
proper  meed ; 


"So  I  grant  you  full  permission  to  select  your  own  re- 
ward. 

Choose  a  gift  to  suit  your  fancy,  —  something  worthy  of 
a  lord  !  " 

"Bully  Bacche!"  cried  the  monarch,  "if  I  do  not  make 
too  bold, 

Let  whatever  I  may  handle  be  transmuted  into  gold  !  " 


MIDAS,  sitting  down  to  dinner,  sees  the  answer  to  his 

wish, 

For  the  turbot  on  the  platter  turns  into  a  golden  fish ! 
And  the  bread  between  his  fingers  is  no  longer  wheaten 

bread, 
But  the  slice  he  tries  to  swallow  is  a  wedge  of  gold 

instead  ! 


And  the  roast  he  takes  for  mutton  fills  his  mouth  with 

golden  meat, 

Very  tempting  to  the  vision,  but  extremely  hard  to  eat ; 
And  the  liquor  in  his  goblet,  very  rare,  select,  and  old, 
Down  the  monarch's  thirsty  throttle  runs  a  stream  of 

liquid  gold ! 


420 


THE   CHOICE   OF  KING  MIDAS. 


Quite  disgusted  with  his  dining,  he  betakes  him  to  his 

bed; 
But,  alas  !    the  golden  pillow  does  n't  rest  his  weary 

head ! 
Nor  does  all  the  gold  around  him  soothe  the  monarch's 

tender  skin  ; 
Golden  sheets,  to  sleepy  mortals,  might  as  well  be  sheets 

of  tin  ! 

Now  poor  MIDAS,  straight  repenting  of  his  rash  and 
foolish  choice, 

Went  to  Bacchus,  and  assured  him,  in  a  very  plaintive 
voice, 

That  his  golden  gift  was  working  in  a  manner  most  un- 
pleasant, — 

And  the  god,  in  sheer  compassion,  took  away  the  fatal 
present 

MORAL. 

By  this  mythologic  story  we  are  very  plainly  told, 

That,  though  gold  may  have  its  uses,  there  are  better 
things  than  gold ; 

That  a  man  may  sell  his  freedom  to  procure  the  shin- 
ing pelf : 

And  that  Avarice,  though  it  prosper,  still  contrives  to 
cheat  itself ! 


PHAETHON.  421 

PHAETHON; 

OR,   THE  AMATEUR  COACHMAN. 

T~\AN  PHAETHON  — so  the  histories  run  — 

•*--'  Was  a  jolly  young  chap,  and  a  son  of  the  SUN, — 

Or  rather  of  PHCEBUS  ;  but  as  to  his  mother, 

Genealogists  make  a  deuce  of  a  pother, 

Some  going  for  one,  and  some  for  another. 

For  myself,  I  must  say,  as  a  careful  explorer, 

This  roaring  young  blade  was  the  son  of  AURORA  ! 

Now  old  Father  PHCEBUS,  ere  railways  begun 

To  elevate  funds  and  depreciate  fun, 

Drove  a  very  fast  coach  by  the  name  of  "  THE  SUN  "  ; 

Running,  they  say, 

Trips  every  day 

(On  Sundays  and  all,  in  a  heathenish  way), 
All  lighted  up  with  a  famous  array 
Of  lanterns  that  shone  with  a  brilliant  display, 
And  dashing  along  like  a  gentleman's  "  shay," 
With  never  a  fare,  and  nothing  to  pay ! 
Now  PHAETHON  begged  of  his  doting  old  father 
To  grant  him  a  favor,  and  this  the  rather, 
Since  some  one  had  hinted,  the  youth  to  annoy, 
That  he  was  n't  by  any  means  PHCEBUS'S  boy  ! 
Intending,  the  rascally  son  of  a  gun, 
To  darken  the  brow  of  the  son  of  the  SUN  ! 
"  By  the  terrible  Styx ! "  said  the  angry  sire, 
While  his  eyes  flashed  volumes  of  fury  and  fire, 
"  To  prove  your  reviler  an  infamous  liar, 
I  swear  I  will  grant  you  whate'er  you  desire  !  " 

"  Then  by  my  head," 


422 


PHAETHON. 


The  youngster  said, 

"  I  '11  mount  the  coach  when  the  horses  are  fed !  — 
For  there  's  nothing  I  'd  choose,  as  I  'm  alive, 
Like  a  seat  on  the  box,  and  a  dashing  drive ! " 

"  Nay,  PHAETHON,  don't,  — 

I  beg  you  won't,  — 

Just  stop  a  moment  and  think  upon  't ! " 
"  You  're  quite  too  young,"  continued  the  sage, 
"  To  tend  a  coach  at  your  tender  age  ! 

Besides,  you  see, 

'T  will  really  be 
Your  first  appearance  on  any  stage  ! 

Desist,  my  child, 

The  cattle  are  wild, 

And  when  their  mettle  is  thoroughly  '  riled,' 
Depend  upon  't  the  coach  '11  be  '  spiled,'  — 
They  're  not  the  fellows  to  draw  it  mild ! 

Desist,  I  say, 

You  '11  rue  the  day,  — 
So  mind,  and  don't  be  foolish,  PHA  ! " 

But  the  youth  was  proud, 

And  swore  aloud, 

8T  was  just  the  thing  to  astonish  the  crowd,  — 
He  'd  have  the  horses  and  would  n't  be  cowed  ! 
In  vain  the  boy  was  cautioned  at  large, 
He  called  for  the  chargers,  unheeding  the  charge, 
And  vowed  that  any  young  fellow  of  force 
Could  manage  a  dozen  coursers,  of  course  ! 
Now  PHCEBUS  felt  exceedingly  sorry 
He  had  given  his  word  in  such  a  hurry, 
But  having  sworn  by  the  Styx,  no  doubt 
He  was  in  for  it  now,  and  could  n't  back  out. 
So  calling  PHAETHON  up  in  a  trice, 
He  gave  the  youth  a  bit  of  advice  :  — 

"  Parce  stimnlis,  utere  loris  / 


PHAETIION. 


423 


(A  '  stage  direction,'  of  which  the  core  is, 
Don't  use  the  whip,  —  they  're  ticklish  things,  — 
But,  whatever  you  do,  hold  on  to  the  strings !) 
Remember  the  rule  of  the  Jehu-tribe  is, 

Medio  tutissimus  ibis, 

(As  the  Judge  remarked  to  a  rowdy  Scotchman, 
Who  was  going  to  quod  between  two  watchmen  !) 
So  mind  your  eye,  and  spare  your  goad, 
Be  shy  of  the  stones,  and  keep  in  the  road !  " 

Now  PHAETHON,  perched  in  the  coachman's  place, 

Drove  off  the  steeds  at  a  furious  pace, 

Fast  as  coursers  running  a  race, 

Or  bounding  along  in  a  steeple-chase  ! 

Of  whip  and  shout  there  was  no  lack, 

"  Crack  —  whack  — 

Whack  — crack," 

Resounded  along  the  horses'  back  ! 
Frightened  beneath  the  stinging  lash, 
Cutting  their  flanks  in  many  a  gash, 
On,  on  they  sped  as  swift  as  a  flash, 
Through  thick  and  thin  away  they  dash, 
(Such  rapid  driving  is  always  rash  !) 
When  all  at  once,  with  a  dreadful  crash, 
The  whole  "  establishment "  went  to  smash  ! 

And  PHAETHON,  he, 

As  all  agree, 

Off  the  coach  was  suddenly  hurled, 
Into  a  puddle,  and  out  of  the  world  ! 

MORAL. 

Don't  rashly  take  to  dangerous  courses,  — 
Nor  set  it  down  in  your  table  of  forces, 
That  anyone  man  equals  any  four  horses  ' 

18* 


424  POLYPHEMUS  AND   ULYSSES. 

Don't  swear  by  the  Styx  !  — 
It 's  one  of  OLD  NICK'S 
Diabolical  tricks 

To  get  people  into  a  regular  "  fix," 
And  hold  'em  there  as  fast  as  bricks  I 


POLYPHEMUS    AND    ULYSSES 

A  VERY  remarkable  history  this  is 
Of  one  POLYPHEMUS  and  CAPTAIN  ULYSSES  ; 
The  latter  a  hero,  accomplished  and  bold, 
The  former  a  knave,  and  a  fright  to  behold,  — 
A  horrid  big  giant  who  lived  in  a  den, 
And  dined  every  day  on  a  couple  of  men, 
Ate  a  woman  for  breakfast,  and  (dreadful  to  see  !) 
Had  a  nice  little  baby  served  up  with  his  tea ! 
Indeed,  if  there 's  truth  in  the  sprightly  narration 
Of  HOMER,  a  poet  of  some  reputation, 
Or  VIRGIL,  a  writer  but  little  inferior, 
And  in  some  things,  perhaps,  the  other's  superior,  — 
POLYPHEMUS  was  truly  a  terrible  creature, 
In  manners  and  morals,  in  form  and  in  feature ; 
For  law  and  religion  he  cared  not  a  copper, 
And,  in  short,  led  a  life  that  was  very  improper  :  — 
What  made  him  a  very  remarkable  guy, 
Like  the  late  MR.  THOMPSON,  he  'd  only  one  eye ; 
But  that  was  a  whopper,  —  a  terrible  one,  — 
"  As  large  "  (ViRGiL  says)  "  as  the  disk  of  the  sun  ! " 
A  brilliant,  but  rather  extravagant  figure, 
Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  his  eye  was  much  bigger 
Than  yours,  —  or  even  the  orb  of  your  sly 
Old  bachelor-friend  who  's  "  a  wife  in  his  eye." 


POLYPHEMUS  AND    ULYSSES. 


425 


ULYSSES,  the  hero  I  mentioned  before, 
Was  shipwrecked,  one  day,  on  the  pestilent  shore 
Where  the  CYCLOPS  resided,  along  with  their  chief, 
POLYPHEMUS,  the  terrible  man-eating  thief, 
Whose  manners  they  copied,  and  laws  they  obeyed, 
While  driving  their  horrible  cannibal  trade. 

With  many  expressions  of  civil  regret 
That  ULYSSES  had  got  so  unpleasantly  wet, 
With  many  expressions  of  pleasure  profound 
That  all  had  escaped  being  thoroughly  drowned, 
The  rascal  declared  he  was  "  fond  of  the  brave," 
And  invited  the  strangers  all  home  to  his  cave. 

Here  the  cannibal  king,  with  as  little  remorse 

As  an  omnibus  feels  for  the  death  of  a  horse, 

Seized,  crushed,  and  devoured  a  brace  of  the  Greeks, 

As  a  Welshman  would  swallow  a  couple  of  leeks, 

Or  a  Frenchman,  supplied  with  his  usual  prog, 

Would  punish  the  hams  of  a  favorite  frog. 

Dashed  and  smashed  against  the  stones, 

He  broke  their  bodies  and  cracked  their  bones, 

Minding  no  more  their  moans  and  groans, 

Than  the  grinder  heeds  his  organ's  tones  ! 

With  purple  gore  the  pavement  swims, 

While  the  giant  crushes  their  crackling  limbs, 

And  poor  ULYSSES  trembles  with  fright 

At  the  horrid  sound,  and  the  horrid  sight,  — 

Trembles  lest  the  monster  grim 

Should  make  his  "  nuts  and  raisins  "  of  him  ! 

And,  really,  since 

The  man  was  a  Prince, 

It 's  not  very  odd  that  his  Highness  should  wince 
(Especially  after  such  very  strong  hints), 


426  POLYPHEMUS  AND    ULYSSES. 

At  the  cannibal's  manner,  as  rather  more  free 
Than  his  Highness  at  court  was  accustomed  to  see  ! 

But  the  crafty  Greek,  to  the  tyrant's  hurt 
(Though  he  did  n't  deserve  so  fine  a  dessert), 
Took  a  dozen  of  wine  from  his  leather  trunk, 
And  plied  the  giant  until  he  was  drunk !  — 
Drunker  than  any  one  you  or  /  know, 
Who  buys  his  "  Rhenish  "  with  ready  rhino,  — 
Exceedingly  drunk,  —  sepultus  vino  ! 

Gazing  a  moment  upon  the  sleeper, 
ULYSSES  cried  :  "  Let 's  spoil  his  peeper  !  — 
'T  will  put  him,  my  boys,  in  a  pretty  trim, 
If  we  can  manage  to  douse  his  glim  !" 
So,  taking  a  spar  that  was  lying  in  sight, 
They  poked  it  into  his  "  forward  light," 
And  gouged  away  with  furious  spite, 
Ramming  and  jamming  with  all  their  might  1 

In  vain  the  giant  began  to  roar, 

And  even  swore 

That  he  never  before 
Had  met,  in  his  life,  such  a  terrible  bore. 
They  only  plied  the  auger  the  more 
And  mocked  his  grief  with  a  bantering  cry, 
"  Don't  babble  of  pain,  —  it  V  all  in  your  eye  i  " 
Until,  alas  for  the  wretched  CYCLOPS  ! 
He  gives  a  groan,  and  out  his  eye  pops  ! 
Leaving  the  knave,  one  need  n't  be  told, 
As  blind  as  a  puppy  of  three  days  old. 

The  rest  of  the  tale  I  can't  tell  now,  — 
Except  that  ULYSSES  got  out  of  the  row, 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE.  437 

With  the  rest  of  his  crew,  —  it 's  no  matter  how  ; 
While  old  POLYPHEMUS,  until  he  was  dead,  — 
Which  was  n't  till  many  years  after,  't  is  said,  — 
Had  a  grief  in  his  heart  and  a  hole  in  his  head  I 

MORAL. 

Don't  use  strong  drink,  —  pray  let  me  advise,  — 
It 's  bad  for  the  stomach,  and  ruins  the  eyes ; 
Don't  impose  upon  sailors  with  land-lubber  tricks, 
Or  you  '11  catch  it  some  day  like  a  thousand  of  bricks  ! 


ORPHEUS    AND    EURYDICE. 

SIR  ORPHEUS,  whom  the  poets  have  sung 
In  every  metre  and  every  tongue, 
Was,  you  may  remember,  a  famous  musician,  — 
At  least  for  a  youth  in  his  pagan  condition,  — 
For  historians  tell  he  played  on  his  shell 
From  morning  till  night,  so  remarkably  well 
That  his  music  created  a  regular  spell 
On  trees  and  stones  in  forest  and  dell  ! 
What  sort  of  an  instrument  his  could  be 
Is  really  more  than  is  known  to  me,  — 
For  none  of  the  books  have  told,  d'  ye  see  ! 
It  's  very  certain  those  heathen  "  swells" 
Knew  nothing  at  all  of  oyster-shells, 
And  it's  clear  Sir  Orpheus  never  could  own  a. 
Shell  like  those  they  make  in  Cremona  ; 
But  whatever  it  was,  to  "  move  the  stones  " 
It  must  have  shelled  out  some  powerful  tones, 
And  entitled  the  player  to  rank  in  my  rhyme 
As  the  very  Vieitxtcmps  of  the  very  old  time  ! 


428  ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 

But  alas  for  the  joys  of  this  mutable  life  ! 
Sir  Orpheus  lost  his  beautiful  wife,  — 
Eurydice,  —  who  vanished  one  day 
From  Earth,  in  a  very  unpleasant  way  ! 
It  chanced,  as  near  as  I  can  determine, 
Through  one  of  those  vertebrated  vermin 
That  lie  in  the  grass  so  prettily  curled, 
Waiting  to  "  snake  "  you  out  of  the  world ! 
And  the  poets  tell  she  went  to  —  well  — 
A  place  where  Greeks  and  Romans  dwell 
After  they  burst  their  mortal  shell ; 
A  region  that  in  the  deepest  shade  is, 
And  known  by  the  classical  name  of  Hades,  — 
A  different  place  from  the  terrible  furnace 
Of  Tartarus,  down  below  Avernus. 

Now,  having  a  heart  uncommonly  stout, 
Sir  Orpheus  did  n't  go  whining  about, 
Nor  marry  another,  as  you  would,  no  doubt, 
But  made  up  his  mind  to  fiddle  her  out ! 
But  near  the  gate  he  had  to  wait, 
For  there  in  state  old  Cerberus  sate. 
A  three-headed  dog,  as  cruel  as  Fate, 
Guarding  the  entrance  early  and  late  ; 
A  beast  so  sagacious,  and  very  voracious, 
So  uncommonly  sharp  and  extremely  rapacious, 
That  it  really  may  be  doubted  whether 
He  'd  have  his  match,  should  a  common  tether 
Unite  three  aldermen's  heads  together  ! 

But  Orpheus,  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
Tuned  up  his  shell,  and  quickly  essayed 
What  could  be  done  with  a  serenade. 
In  short,  so  charming  an  air  he  played, 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 

He  quite  succeeded  in  overreaching 
The  cunning  cur,  by  musical  teaching, 
And  put  him  to  sleep  as  fast  as  preaching ! 

And  now  our  musical  champion,  Orpheus, 
Having  given  the  janitor  over  to  Morpheus, 
Went  groping  around  among  the  ladies 
Who  throng  the  dismal  halls  of  Hades, 

Calling  aloud 

To  the  shady  crowd, 
In  a  voice  as  shrill  as  a  martial  fife, 
"  O,  tell  me  where  in  hell  is  my  wife  !  " 
(A  natural  question,  't  is  very  plain, 
Although  it  may  sound  a  little  profane.) 

"  Eurydice !  Eu-ryd-i-ce  I " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be,  — 
(A  singular  sound,  and  funny  withal, 
In  a  place  where  nobody  rides  at  all !) 

"  Eurydice  !  —  Eurydice ! 
O,  come,  my  dear,  along  with  me  ! " 
And  then  he  played  so  remarkably  fine, 
That  it  really  might  be  called  divine,  — 

For  who  can  show, 

On  earth  or  below, 
Such  wonderful  feats  in  the  musical  line? 

E'en  Tantalus  ceased  from  trying  to  sip 
The  cup  that  flies  from  his  arid  lip  ; 
Ixion,  too,  the  magic  could  feel, 
And,  for  a  moment,  blocked  his  wheel ; 
Poor  Sisyphus,  doomed  to  tumble  and  toss 
The  notable  stone  that  gathers  no  moss, 
Let  go  his  burden,  and  turned  to  hear 
The  charming  sounds  that  ravished  his  ear  ; 


429 


430  ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 

And  even  the  Furies,  —  those  terrible  shrews 
Whom  no  one  before  could  ever  amuse,  — 
Those  strong-bodied  ladies  with  strong-minded  views 
Whom  even  the  Devil  would  doubtless  refuse, 
Were  his  majesty  only  permitted  to  choose,  — 
Each  felt  for  a  moment  her  nature  desert  her, 
And  wept  like  a  girl  o'er  the  "  Sorrows  of  Werter." 

And  still  Sir  Orpheus  chanted  his  song, 
Sweet  and  clear  and  strong  and  long, 

"  Eurydice  !  —  Eurydice  ! " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be  ; 
And  Echo,  taking  up  the  word, 
Kept  it  up  till  the  lady  heard, 
And  came  with  joy  to  meet  her  lord. 
And  he  led  her  along  the  infernal  route, 
Until  he  had  got  her  almost  out, 
When,  suddenly  turning  his  head  about 
(To  take  a  peep  at  his  wife,  no  doubt), 

He  gave  a  groan, 

For  the  lady  was  gone, 
And  had  left  him  standing  there  all  alone  ! 
For  by  an  oath  the  gods  had  bound 
Sir  Orpheus  not  to  look  around 
Till  he  was  clear  of  the  sacred  ground, 
If  he  'd  have  Eurydice  safe  and  sound  ; 
For  the  moment  he  did  an  act  so  rash 
His  wife  would  vanish  as  quick  as  a  flash  I 

MORAL. 

Young  women !  beware,  for  goodness'  sake, 
Of  every  sort  of  "  sarpent  snake  "  ; 
Remember  the  rogue  is  apt  to  deceive, 
And  played  the  deuce  with  grandmother  Eve  ! 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE.  43  r 

Young  men  !  it 's  a  critical  thing  to  go 
Exactly  right  with  a  lady  in  tow  ; 
But  when  you  are  in  the  proper  track, 
Just  go  ahead,  and  never  look  back  ! 


JUPITER    AND    DANAE: 

OR,   HOW  TO   WIN   A  WOMAN. 

T  MPERIAL  Jove,  who,  with  wonderful  art, 

-*-     Was  one  of  those  suitors  that  always  prevail, 

Once  made  an  assault  on  so  flinty  a  heart, 

That  he  feared  for  a  while  he  was  destined  to  fail 

A  beautiful  maiden,  Miss  Danae  by  name, 
The  Olympian  lover  endeavored  to  win  ; 

But  she  peeped  from  the  casement  whenever  he  came, 
Exclaiming,  "  You  're  handsome,  but  cannot  come 
in!" 

With  sweet  adulation  he  tickled  her  ear ; 

But  still  at  her  window  she  quietly  sat, 
And  said,  though  his  speeches  were  pleasant  to  hear, 

She  'd  always  been  used  to  such  homage  as  that ! 

Then  he  spoke,  in  a  fervid  and  rapturous  strain, 
Of  a  bosom  consuming  with  burning  desire  ; 

But  his  eloquent  pleading  was  wholly  in  vain,  — 
She  thought  it  imprudent  to  meddle  with  fire  ! 

Then  he  begged  her  in  mercy  to  pity  his  case, 
And  spoke  of  his  dreadfully  painful  condition ; 

But  the  lady  replied,  with  a  sorrowful  face, 
She  was  only  a  maiden,  and  not  a  physician ! 


43  2 


VENUS  AND    VULCAN. 


In  vain  with  these  cunning  conventional  snares, 
To  win  her  the  gallant  Lothario  strove  ; 

In  spite  of  his  smiles,  and  his  tears,  and  his  prayers, 
She  could  n't,  she  would  n't,  be  courted  by  Jove  ! 

At  last  he  contrived,  —  so  the  story  is  told,  — 
By  some  means  or  other,  one  evening,  to  pour 

Plump  into  her  apron  a  shower  of  gold, 

Which  opened  her  heart  —  and  unbolted  her  door ! 

MORAL. 
Hence  suitors  may  learn  that  in  matters  of  love 

'T  is  idle  in  manners  or  merit  to  trust ; 
The  only  sure  way  is  to  imitate  Jove,  — 

Just  open  your  purse,  and  come  down  with  the  dust. 


VENUS    AND    VULCAN: 

OR,    THE    MYSTERY    EXPLAINED. 

WHEN  the  peerless  Aphrodite 
First  appeared  among  her  kin, 
What  a  flutter  of  excitement 
All  the  goddesses  were  in ! 

How  the  gods,  in  deep  amazement, 
Bowed  before  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 

And  in  loyal  adoration 

Proffered  each  his  humble  duty  ! 

Phoebus,  first,  to  greet  her  coming, 
Met  her  with  a  grand  oration  ; 

Mars,  who  ne'er  before  had  trembled, 
Showed  the  plainest  trepidation ! 


VENUS  AND    VULCAN. 

Hermes  fairly  lost  his  cunning, 
Gazing  at  the  new  Elysian  ; 

Plutus  quite  forgot  his  money 
In  the  rapture  of  his  vision ! 

Even  Jove  was  deeply  smitten 
(So  the  Grecian  poets  tell  us), 

And,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
Juno  was  extremely  jealous  ! 

Staid  Minerva  thought  her  silly  ; 

Chaste  Diana  called  her  vain  ; 
But  not  one  of  all  the  ladies 

Dared  to  say  that  she  was  "  plain" ! 

Surely  such  a  throng  of  lovers 
Never  mortal  yet  could  boast; 

Everywhere  throughout  Olympus 
"  Charming  Venus  ! "  was  the  toast ! 

Even  Vulcan,  lame  and  ugly, 

Paid  the  dame  his  awkward  court ; 

But  the  goddess,  in  derision, 
Turned  his  passion  into  sport ; 

Laughed  aloud  at  all  his  pleading ; 

Bade  him  wash  his  visage  sooty, 
And  go  wooing  with  the  Harpies, 

What  had  he  to  do  with  Beauty  ? 

Well  —  how  fared  it  with  the  goddess  ? 

Sure,  the  haughty  queen  of  love, 
Choosing  one  to  suit  her  fancy, 

Married  Phoebus,  Mars,  or  Jove  ? 


433 


434  RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER. 

No  !  —  at  last  —  as  often  happens 
To  coquettes  of  lower  station  — 

Venus  found  herself  neglected, 
With  a  damaged  reputation ; 

And  esteeming  any  husband 
More  desirable  than  none, 

She  was  glad  to  marry  Vulcan 
As  the  best  that  could  be  done  I 

L'ENVOI. 
Hence  you  learn  the  real  reason, 

Which  your  wonder  oft  arouses, 
Why  so  many  handsome  women 

Have  such  very  ugly  spouses  ! 


RICHARD    OF    GLOSTER. 

A    TRAVESTY. 

T)ERHAPS,  my  dear  boy,  you  may  never  have  heard 
-L      of  that  wicked  old  monarch,  KING  RICHARD  THE 

THIRD,— 
Whose  actions  were  often  extremely  absurd  ; 

And  who  led  such  a  sad  life, 

Such  a  wanton  and  mad  life  ; 
Indeed,  I  may  say,  such  a  wretchedly  bad  life, 
I  suppose  I  am  perfectly  safe  in  declaring, 
There  was  ne'er  such  a  monster  of  infamous  daring  ; 
In  all  sorts  of  crime  he  was  wholly  unsparing  ; 
In  pride  and  ambition  was  quite  beyond  bearing; 
And  had  a  bad  habit  of  cursing  and  swearing. 


RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER.  435 

I  must  own,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  more  than  suspected 

The  King's  education  was  rather  neglected  ; 

And  that  at  your  school  with  any  two  "  Dicks  " 

Whom  your  excellent  teacher  diurnally  pricks 

In  his  neat  little  tables,  in  order  to  fix 

Each  pupil's  progression  with  numeral  nicks, 

Master  RICHARD  Y.  GLOSTER  would  often  have  heard 

His  standing  recorded  as  "  Richard  —  (he  third!" 

But  whatever  of  learning  his  Majesty  had, 

'T  is  clear  the  King's  English  was  shockingly  bad. 

At  the  slightest  pretence 

Of  disloyal  offence, 

His  anger  exceeded  all  reason  or  sense  ; 
And,  having  no  need  to  foster  or  nurse  it,  he 
Would  open  his  wrath,  then,  as  if  to  disperse  it,  he 
Would  scatter  his  curses  like  College  degrees ; 

And,  quite  at  his  ease, 

Conferred  his  "  rf-rf's," 
As  plenty  and  cheap  as  a  young  University ! 

And  yet  Richard's  tongue  was  remarkable  smooth  ; 

Could  utter  a  lie  quite  as  easy  as  truth 

(Another  bad  habit  he  got  in  his  youth) ; 

And  had,  on  occasion,  a  powerful  battery 

Of  plausible  phrases  and  eloquent  flattery, 

Which  gave  him,  my  boy,  in  that  barbarous  day 

(Things  are  different  now,  I  am  happy  to  say), 

Over  feminine  hearts  a  most  perilous  sway. 

The  women,  in  spite  of  an  odious  hump 

Which  he  wore  on  his  back,  all  thought  him  a  trump  : 

And  just  when  he  'd  played  them  the  scurviest  trick, 

They  'd  swear  in  their  hearts  that  this  crooked  old 

stick,  — 
This  treacherous,  dangerous,  dissolute  Dick, 


436  RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER. 

For  honor  and  virtue  beat  Cato  all  hollow ; 
And  in  figure  and  face  was  another  Apollo ! 


He  murdered  their  brothers, 

And  fathers  and  mothers  : 

And,  worse  than  all  that,  he  slaughtered  by  dozens 
His  own  royal  uncles  and  nephews  and  cousins ; 
And  then,  in  the  cunningest  sort  of  orations, 

In  smooth  conversations, 

And  flattering  ovations, 
Made  love  to  the  principal  female  relations ! 
'T  was  very  improper,  my  boy,  you  must  know, •' 
For  the  son  of  a  King  to  behave  himself  so  ; 
And  you  '11  scarcely  believe  what  the  chronicles  show 

Of  his  wonderful  wooings, 

And  infamous  doings  ; 
But  here 's  an  exploit  that  he  certainly  did  do,  — 

Killed  his  own  cousin  NED, 

As  he  slept  in  his  bed, 
And  married,  next  day,  the  disconsolate  widow ! 

I  don't  understand  how  such  ogres  arise, 

But  beginning,  perhaps,  with  things  little  in  size, 

Such  as  torturing  beetles  and  bluebottle-flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle-dog's  eyes,  — 

King  Richard  had  grown  so  wantonly  cruel, 

He  minded  a  murder  no  more  than  a  duel ; 

He  'd  indulge,  on  the  slightest  pretence  or  occasion, 

In  his  favorite  amusement  of  Decapitation, 

Until  "  Off  with  his  head  !  " 

It  is  credibly  said, 

From  his  Majesty's  mouth  came  as  easy  and  pat 
As  from  an  old  constable,  "  Off  with  his  hat !  " 


RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER. 


437 


One  really  shivers, 

And  fairly  quivers, 

To  think  of  the  treatment  of  Grey  and  Rivers 
And  Hastings  and  Vaughn  and  other  good  livers, 
All  suddenly  sent,  at  the  tap  of  a  drum, 
From  the  Kingdom  of  England  to  Kingdom-Come  ! 
Of  Buckingham  doomed  to  a  tragical  end 
For  being  the  tyrant's  particular  friend  ; 
Of  Clarence  who  died,  it  is  mournful  to  think, 
Of  wine  that  he  was  n't  permitted  to  drink ! 
And  the  beautiful  babies  of  royal  blood, 
Two  little  White  Roses  both  nipt  in  the  bud  ! 
And  silly  Queen  Anne,  —  what  sorrow  it  cost  her 
(And  served  her  right !)  for  daring  to  foster 
The  impudent  suit  of  this  Richard  of  Gloster  ; 
Who,  instead  of  conferring  a  royal  gratuity, 
A  dower,  or  even  a  decent  Anne-uity, 
Just  gave  her  a  portion  of —  something  or  other 
That  made  her  as  quiet  as  Pharaoh's  mother  1 

Ah  Richard  !  you  're  going  it  quite  too  fast ; 
Your  doom  is  slow,  but  it 's  coming  at  last ; 

Your  bloody  crown 

Will  topple  down, 
And  you  '11  be  done  uncommonly  brown  I 

Your  foes  are  thick, 

My  daring  Dick, 

And  RICHMOND,  a  prince,  and  a  regular  brick, 
Is  after  you  now  with  a  very  sharp  stick ! 

On  Bosworth  field  the  armies  to-night 
Are  pitching  their  tents  in  each  other's  sight ; 
And  to-morrow !  to-morrow!  they  're  going  to  fight ! 
And  now  King  Richard  has  gone  to  bed  ; 


438  RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER. 

But  e'en  in  his  sleep 

He  cannot  keep 
The  past  or  the  future  out  of  his  head. 

In  his  deep  remorse 

Each  mangled  corse 

Of  all  he  had  slain,  — or,  what  was  worse, 
Their  ghosts,  —  came  up  in  terrible  force, 
And  greeted  his  ear  with  unpleasant  discourse, 

Until,  with  a  scream, 

He  woke  from  his  dream, 
And  shouted  aloud  for  "  another  horse  ! " 

Perhaps  you  may  think,  my  little  dear, 

King  Richard's  request  was  rather  queer  ; 

But  I  '11  presently  make  it  exceedingly  clear  :  — 

THE   ROYAL  SLEEPER  WAS   OVERFED  ! 

I  mean  to  say  that,  against  his  habit, 

He  'd  eaten  Welsh-rabbit 
With  very  bad  whiskey  on  going  to  bed. 
/'ve  had  the  Night-Mare  with  horrible  force, 
And  much  prefer  a  different  horse ! 

But  see  !  the  murky  night  is  gone  ! 
The  Morn  is  up,  and  the  Fight  is  on ! 
The  Knights  are  engaging,  the  warfare  is  waging, 
On  the  right,  on  the  left,  the  battle  is  raging  ; 

King  Richard  is  down ! 

Will  he  save  his  crown  ? 

There 's  a  crack  in  it  now  !  —  he 's  beginning  to  bleed ! 
Aha !  King  Richard  has  lost  his  steed  ! 
(At  a  moment  like  this  't  is  a  terrible  need  !) 
He  shouts  aloud  with  thundering  force, 
And  offers  a  very  high  price  for  a  horse, 
But  it 's  all  in  vain,  —  the  battle  is  done,  — 


RICHARD   OF  GLOSTER.  439 

The  day  is  lost !  —  and  the  day  is  won  !  — 

And  RICHMOND  is  King !  and  RICHARD  's  a  corse ! 


MORAL. 

Remember,  my  boy,  that  moral  enormities 

Are  apt  to  attend  corporeal  deformities. 

Whatever  you  have,  or  whatever  you  lack, 

Beware  of  getting  a  crook  in  your  back  ; 

And,  while  you  're  about  it,  I  'd  very  much  rather 

You  'd  grow  tall  and  superb,  i.  e.  copy  your  father ! 

Don't  learn  to  be  cruel,  pray  let  me  advise, 
By  torturing  beetles  and  bluebottle-flies, 
Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle-dog's  eyes. 

If  you  ever  should  marry,  remember  to  wed 

A  handsome,  plump,  modest,  sweet-spoken,  well-bred, 

And  sensible  maiden  of  twenty,  —  instead 

Of  a  widow  whose  husband  is  recently  dead  ! 

If  you  'd  shun  in  your  naps  those  horrible  Incubi, 

Beware  what  you  eat,  and  be  careful  what  drink  you 

buy  ; 

Or  else  you  may  see,  in  your  sleep's  perturbations, 
Some  old  and  uncommonly  ugly  relations, 
Who  '11  be  very  apt  to  disturb  your  nutations 
By  unpleasant  allusions  and  rude  observations  ! 


440  OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR. 


OTHELLO,    THE    MOOR. 

O  MANGES  of  late  are  so  wretchedly  poor, 

Here  goes  for  the  old  one  :  —  Othello,  the  Moor  ; 
A  warrior  of  note,  and  by  no  means  a  boor, 

Though  the  skin  on  his  face 

Was  as  black  as  the  ace 
Of  spades  ;  or  (a  simile  nearer  the  case) 
Say,  black  as  the  Deuce  ;  or  black  as  a  brace 
Of  very  black  cats  in  a  very  dark  place  ! 

That 's  the  German  idea  ; 

But  how  he  could  be  a 
Regular  negro  don't  seem  very  clear ; 

For  Horace,  you  know, 

A  great  while  ago, 

Put  a  sentiment  forth  which  we  all  must  agree  to : 
"  Hie  niger  est ;  hunc  /u,  Romane,  caveto  !  " 
(A  nigger 's  a  rascal  that  one  ought  to  see  to.) 

I  rather,  in  sooth, 

Think  it  nearer  the  truth 
To  take  the  opinion  of  young  Mr.  Booth, 

Who  makes  his  Othello 

A  grim-looking  fellow 
Of  a  color  compounded  of  lamp-black  and  yellow. 

Now  Captain  Othello,  a  true  son  of  Mars, 
The  foe  being  vanquished,  returned  from  the  wars, 
All  covered  with  ribbons,  and  garters,  and  stars, 
Not  to  mention  a  score  of  magnificent  scars  ; 

And  calling,  one  day, 

In  a  neighborly  way, 
On  Signer  Brabantio,  —  one  of  the  men 
Who  figured  in  Venice  as  Senator  then,  — 


OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR.  441 

Was  invited  to  tell 

Of  all  that  befell 

Himself  and  his  friends  while  campaigning  so  well, 
From  the  time  of  his  boyhood  till  now  he  was  grown 
The  greatest  of  Captains  that  Venice  had  known. 

As  a  neighbor  should  do, 

He  ran  it  quite  through, 
(I  would  n't  be  bail  it  was  all  of  it  true) 
Recounting,  with  ardor,  such  trophies  and  glories, 
Among  Ottoman  rebels  and  Cyprian  tories, 
Not  omitting  a  parcel  of  cock-and-bull  stories, — 
That  he  quite  won  the  heart  of  the  Senator's  daughter, 
Who,  like  most  of  the  sex,  had  a  passion  for  slaughter ; 

And  was  wondrously  bold 

In  battles,  —  as  told 

By  brilliant  romancers,  who  picture  in  gold 
What,  in  its  own  hue,  you  'd  be  shocked  to  behold. 

Now  Captain  Othello,  who  never  had  known  a 
Young  lady  so  lovely  as  "  Fair  Desdemona," 
Not  even  his  patroness,  Madam  Bellona,  — 

Was  delighted,  one  day, 

At  hearing  her  say, 

Of  all  men  in  the  world  he  'd  the  charmingest  way 
Of  talking  to  women  ;  and  if  any  one  should, 
(Tho'  she  did  n't  imagine  that  any  one  would,  — 
For  where,  to  be  sure,  was  another  who  could?} 
But  if —  and  suppose  —  a  lover  came  to  her, 
And  told  her  his  story,  't  would  certainly  woo  her. 

With  so  lucid  a  hint, 

The  dickens  were  in  't, 

If  he  could  n't  have  read  her  as  easy  as  print ; 
And  thus  came  of  course,  —  but  as  to  the  rest,  — • 
The  billing  and  cooing  I  leave  to  be  guessed,  — 


442  OTHELLO,   THE  MOOR. 

And  how,  when  their  passion  was  fairly  confessed, 
They  sent  for  a  parson  to  render  them  "  blest,"  — 
Although  it  was  done,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
In  what  Mrs.  P.  — had  it  happened  to-day  — 
Would  be  likely  to  call  a  clam-destiny  way  ! 

I  cannot  recount 

One  half  the  amount 

Of  curses  that  burst  from  his  cardiac  fount 
When  Signor  Brabantio  learned  that  the  Moor 
Had  married  his  daughter;  "  How  daredte  to  woo  her? 
The  sooty-skinned  knave,  —  thus  to  blight  and  undo  her? 
With  what  villanous  potions  the  scoundrelly  sinner 
Must  have  poisoned  her  senses  in  order  to  win  her  !  " 

And  more  of  the  same,  — 

But  my  language  is  lame, 

E'en  a  fishwoman's  tongue  were  decidedly  tame 
A  tithe  of  the  epithets  even  to  name, 
Compounded  of  scorn  and  derision  and  hate, 
Which  Signor  Brabantio  poured  on  the  pate 
Of  the  beautiful  girl's  nigritudinous  mate  ! 

I  cannot  delay 

To  speak  of  the  way 
The  matter  was  settled  ;  suffice  it  to  say 
5T  was  exactly  the  same  as  you  see  in  a  play, 
Where  the  lady  persuades  her  affectionate  sire, 
That  the  fault  was  her  own,  —  which  softens  his  ire, 
And,  though  for  a  season  extremely  annoyed, 
At  last  he  approves  —  what  he  cannot  avoid  ! 

Philosophers  tell  us 
A  mind  like  Othello's  — 

Strong,  manly,  and  brave  —  is  n't  apt  to  be  jealous  ; 
But  now,  you  must  know, 
The  Moor  had  a  foe, 


OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR.  443 

lago,  by  name,  who  concealed  with  a  show 
Of  honest  behavior  the  wickedest  heart 
That  Satan  e'er  filled  with  his  treacherous  art, 

And  who,  as  a  friend, 

Was  accustomed  to  lend 
His  gifts  to  the  most  diabolical  end, 
To  wit,  the  destruction  of  Captain  Othello  : 
Desdemona,  his  wife,  and  an  excellent  fellow, 
One  Cassio,  a  soldier,  —  too  apt  to  get  mellow,  — 
But  as  honest  a  man  as  ever  broke  bread, 
A  bottle  of  wine,  or  an  Ottoman  head. 

'T  is  a  very  long  story, 

And  would  certainly  bore  ye, 
Being  not  very  brilliant  with  grandeur  or  glory, 
How  the  wicked  lago  contrived  to  abuse 
The  gallant  Othello  respecting  his  views 

Of  his  fair  lady's  honor  ; 

Reflecting  upon  her 

In  damnable  hints,  and  by  fragments  of  news 
About  palming  and  presents,  himself  had  invented, 
Until  the  poor  husband  was  fairly  demented, 
And  railed  at  his  wife,  like  a  cowardly  varlet, 
And  gave  her  an  epithet,  —  rhyming  with  scarlet, 
And  prated  of  Cassio  with  virulent  spleen, 
And  called  for  a  handkerchief  some  one  had  seen, 
And  wanted  to  know  what  the  deuce  it  could  mean  ? 
And  —  to  state  the  case  honestly  —  really  acted 
In  the  manner  that  women  call  "  raving-distracted  !  " 

It  is  sad  to  record 

How  her  lunatic  lord 

Spurned  all  explanation  the  dame  could  afford, 
And  still  kept  repeating  the  odious  word, 


444  OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR. 

So  false,  and  so  foul  to  a  virtuous  ear, 

That  I  could  n't  be  tempted  to  mention  it  here. 

'T  is  sadder  to  tell 

Of  the  crime  that  befell, 
When,  moved,  it  would  seem,  by  the  demons  of  hell, 

He  seized  a  knife, 

And,  kissing  his  wife, 

Extinguished  the  light  of  her  innocent  life  ; 
And  how,  also,  before  the  poor  body  was  cool, 
He  found  he  had  acted  as  villany's  tool, 
And  died  exclaiming,  "  O  fool !  fool!  FOOL  !  " 


MORAL. 

Young  ladies  !  —  beware  of  hasty  connections  ; 
And  don't  marry  suitors  with  swarthy  complexions  ; 
For  though  they  may  chance  to  be  capital  fellows, 
Depend  upon  it,  they  're  apt  to  be  jealous  ! 

Young  gentlemen  !  pray  recollect,  if  you  can, 
To  give  a  wide  berth  to  a  meddlesome  man  ; 
And  horsewhip  the  knave  who  would  poison  your  life 
By  breeding  distrust  between  you  and  your  wife  ! 


SONNETS. 


SONNETS. 


PAN    IMMORTAL. 

WHO  weeps  the  death  of  Pan  ?    Pan  is  not  dead, 
But  loves  the  shepherds  still ;  *  still  leads  the 

fauns 
In  merry  dances  o'er  the  grassy  lawns, 

To  his  own  pipes  ;  as  erst  in  Greece  he  led 

The  sylvan  games,  what  time  the  god  pursued 
The  beauteous  Dryope.     The  Naiads  still 
Haunt  the  green  marge  of  every  mountain  rill ; 

The  Dryads  sport  in  every  leafy  wood  ; 

Pan  cannot  die  till  Nature's  self  decease  ! 
Full  oft  the  reverent  worshipper  descries 
His  ruddy  face  and  mischief-glancing  eyes 

Beneath  the  branches  of  old  forest-trees 
That  tower  remote  from  steps  of  worldly  men, 
Or  hears  his  laugh  far  echoing  down  the  glen  ! 

*  Pan  curat  oves,  oviumque  magistros.  — VIRGIL. 


448  SONNETS. 


THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

TO   STELLA. 

ALL  things  of  beauty  are  not  theirs  alone 
Who  hold  the  fee  ;  but  unto  him  no  less 
Who  can  enjoy,  than  unto  them  who  own, 

Are  sweetest  uses  given  to  possess. 
For  Heaven  is  bountiful ;  and  suffers  none 

To  make  monopoly  of  aught  that 's  fair  ; 
The  breath  of  violets  is  not  for  one, 

Nor  loveliness  of  women  ;  all  may  share 
Who  can  discern  ;  and  He  who  made  the  law, 

"  Tnou  shalt  not  covet ! "  gave  the  subtile  power 
By  which,  unsinning,  I  may  freely  draw 

Beauty  and  fragrance  from  each  perfect  flower 
That  decks  the  wayside,  or  adorns  the  lea, 
Or  in  my  neighbor's  garden  blooms  for  me  ! 

BEREAVEMENT. 

NAY,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  the  child  be  dead  ; 
He  lives  again  in  Heaven's  unclouded  life, 
With  other  angels  that  have  early  fled 

From  these  dark  scenes  of  sorrow,  sin,  and  strife. 
Nay,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  thy  yearning  love 

Would  fondly  keep  for  earth  its  fairest  flowers, 
And  e'en  deny  to  brighter  realms  above 

The  few  that  deck  this  dreary  world  of  ours  : 
Though  much  it  seems  a  wonder  and  a  woe 

That  one  so  loved  should  be  so  early  lost, 
And  hallowed  tears  may  unforbidden  flow 

To  mourn  the  blossom  that  we  cherished  most, 
Yet  all  is  well ;  GOD'S  good  design  I  see, 
That  where  our  treasure  is^  our  hearts  may  be. 


SONNETS. 


449 


TO.  MY   WIFE   ON    HER  BIRTHDAY. 

WHAT  !    ty  years  ?  —  I    never   could   have 
guessed  it 

By  any  token  writ  upon  your  brow, 
Or  other  test  of  Time,  —  had  you  not  now, 

Just  to  surprise  me,  foolishly  confessed  it. 

Well,  on  your  word,  of  course,  I  must  receive  it ; 
Although  (to  say  the  truth)  it  is,  indeed, 
As  proselytes  sometimes  accept  a  creed, 

While  in  their  hearts  they  really  don't  believe  it ! 

While  all  around  is  changed,  no  change  appears, 
My  darling  Sophie,  to  these  eyes  of  mine, 
In  aught  of  thee  that  I  have  deemed  divine, 

To  mark  the  number  of  the  vanished  years,  — 
The  kindly  years  that  on  that  face  of  thine 
Have  spent  their  life,  and,  "dying,  made  no  sign!" 

TO    SPRING. 

OVER  PURPUREUM !"— Violet-colored  Spring 
Perhaps,  good  poet,  in  your  vernal  days 
The  simple  truth  might  justify  the  phrase  ; 

But  now,  dear  Virgil,  there  is  no  such  thing ! 

Perhaps,  indeed,  in  your  Italian  clime, 
Where  o'er  the  year,  if  fair  report  be  true, 
Four  seasons  roll,  instead  of  barely  two, 

There  still  may  be  a  verdant  vernal  time  ; 

But  here,  on  these  our  chilly  Northern  shores, 
Where  April  gleams  with  January's  snows,  — 
Not  e'en  a  violet  buds  ;  and  nothing  "  blows," 

Save  blustering  Boreas,  —  dreariest  of  bores. 

O  ver  purpureum  !  where  the  Spring  discloses 

Her  brightest  purple  on  our  lips  and  noses  ! 


SONATETS. 


THE    VICTIM. 

A  GALLIC  bard  the  touching  tale  has  told 
How  once  —  the  customary  dower  to  save  — 
A  sordid  sire  his  only  daughter  gave 

To  a  rich  suitor,  ugly,  base,  and  old. 

The  mother  too  (such  mothers  there  have  been) 
With  equal  pleasure  heard  the  formal  vow, 
"  With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow," 

And  gave  the  bargain  an  approving  grin. 

Then,  to  "the  girl,  who  stood  with  drooping  head, 
The  pallid  image  of  a  wretch  forlorn, 
Mourning  the  hapless  hour  when  she  was  born, 

The  Priest  said,  "  Agnes,  wilt  thou  this  man  wed  ? " 
"  Of  this  my  marriage,  holy  man,"  said  she, 
"  Thou  art  the  first  to  say  a  word  to  me  !  " 


TO 


is  an  ever-changing  beauty  ;  now 
-L     With  that  proud  look,  so  lofty  yet  serene 

In  its  high  majesty,  thou  seem'st  a  queen, 
With  all  her  diamonds  blazing  on  her  brow  ! 
Anon  I  see  —  as  gentler  thoughts  arise 

And  mould  thy  features  in  their  sweet  control  — 

The  pure,  white  ray  that  lights  a  maiden's  soul, 
And  struggles  outward  through  her  drooping  eyes. 
Anon  they  flash  ;  and  now  a  golden  light 

Bursts  o'er  thy  beauty,  like  the  Orient's  glow, 

Bathing  thy  shoulders'  and  thy  bosom's  snow, 
And  all  the  woman  beams  upon  my  sight ! 

I  kneel  unto  the  queen,  like  knight  of  yore  ; 

The  maid  I  love ;  the  woman  I  adore ! 


SONNETS. 

TO    A    CLAM. 

Dum  tacent  clamant. 

TNGLORIOUS  friend  !  most  confident  I  am 
-*-     Thy  life  is  one  of  very  little  ease  ; 

Albeit  men  mock  thee  with  their  similes 
And  prate  of  being  "  happy  as  a  clam  "  ! 
What  though  thy  shell  protects  thy  fragile  head 

From  the  sharp  bailiffs  of  the  briny  sea? 

Thy  valves  are,  sure,  no  safety-valves  to  thee, 
While  rakes  are  free  to  desecrate  thy  bed, 
And  bear  thee  off,  —  as  foemen  take  their  spoil,  — 

Far  from  thy  friends  and  family  to  roam  ; 

Forced,  like  a  Hessian,  from  thy  native  home, 
To  meet  destruction  in  a  foreign  broil ! 

Though  thou  art  tender,  yet  thy  humble  bard 

Declares,  O  clam !  thy  case  is  shocking  hard  ! 

THE    PORTRAIT. 

A  PRETTY  picture  hangs  before  my  view ; 
The  face,  in  little,  of  a  Southern  dame, 

To  me  unknown  (though  not  unknown  to  fame) 
Save  by  the  lines  the  cunning  limner  drew. 
So  grandly  Grecian  is  the  lady's  head,    • 

I  took  her  for  Minerva  in  disguise  ; 

But  when  I  marked  the  winning  lips  and  eyes, 
I  thought  of  Aphrodite,  in  her  stead  ; 
And  then  I  kissed  her  calm,  unanswering  mouth 

(The  picture  's  mine)  as  any  lover  might, 

In  the  deep  fervor  of  a  nuptial  night, 
And  envied  him  who,  in  the  "  Sunny  South," 

Calls  her  his  own  whose  shadow  can  impart 

Such  very  sunshine  to  a  Northern  heart! 


451 


EPIGRAMS. 


EPIGRAMS. 


THE    EXPLANATION. 

CHARLES,  discoursing  rather  freely 
Of  the  unimportant  part 
Which  (he  said)  our  clever  women 

Play  in  Science  and  in  Art, 
"  Ah  !  —  the  sex  you  undervalue  " ; 

Cried  his  lovely  cousin  Jane. 
"  No,  indeed  !  "  responded  Charley, 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  explain ; 
Such  a  paragon  is  woman, 

That,  you  see,  it  must  be  true 
She  is  always  vastly  better 

Than  the  best  that  she  can  do  !  " 


FAMILY    QUARRELS. 

A  FOOL,"  said  Jeanette,  "  is  a  creature  I  hate  !  " 
"  But  hating,"  quoth  John,  "  is  immoral ; 
Besides,  my  dear  girl,  it 's  a  terrible  fate 
To  be  found  in  a  family  quarrel !  " 


456  EPIGRAMS. 


TEACHING   BY  EXAMPLE. 

"  T  17HAT  is  the  '  Poet's  License,'  say?" 
*  *     Asked  rose-lipped  Anna  of  a  poet. 
"  Now  give  me  an  example,  pray, 

That  when  I  see  one  I  may  know  it." 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  plants  a  kiss 

Where  perfect  kisses  always  fall. 
"  Nay,  sir  !  what  liberty  is  this  ? " 

"  The  Poets  License,  —  that  is  all ! " 


A    COMMON    ALTERNATIVE. 

AY,  what  's  to  be  done  with  this  window,  dear 

Jack  ? 
The  cold  rushes  through  it  at  every  crack." 

Quoth  John  :  "  I  know  little  of  carpenter-craft, 
But  I  think,  my  dear  wife,  you  will  have  to  go  through 
The  very  same  process  that  other  folks  do,  — 
That  is,  you  must  list  or  submit  to  the  draught !  " 


A    PLAIN    CASE. 

WHEN  Tutor  Thompson  goes  to  bed, 
That  very  moment,  it  is  said, 
The  cautious  man  puts  out  the  light, 
And  draws  the  curtain  snug  and  tight. 
You  marvel  much  why  this  should  be, 
But  when  his  spouse  you  chance  to  see, 
What  seemed  before  a  puzzling  case 
Is  plain  as  —  Mrs.  Thompson's  face  ! 


EPIGRAMS. 


457 


OVER-CAN  D  ID. 

T)  OUNCING  Bess,  discoursing  free, 
-•--'     Owned,  with  wondrous  meekness, 
Just  one  fault  (what  could  it  be  ?) 

One  peculiar  weakness  ; 
She  in  candor  must  confess 

Nature  failed  to  send  her 
Woman's  usual  tenderness 

Toward  the  other  gender. 
Foolish  Bessie  !  —  thus  to  tell  ; 

Had  she  not  confessed  it, 
Not  a  man  who  knows  her  well 

Ever  would  have  guessed  it ! 

NEVER  TOO    LATE   TO   MEND. 

"  T  T  ERE,  wife,"  said  Will,  "  I  pray  you  devote 
Just  half  a  minute  to  mend  this  coat, 

Which  a  nail  has  chanced  to  rend." 
"  'T  is  ten  o'clock  !  "  said  his  drowsy  mate. 
"  I  know,"  said  Will,  "  it  is  rather  late  ; 

But  't  is  '  never  too  late  to  mend  ' !  " 


AN    EQUIVOCAL   APOLOGY. 

QUOTH  Madam  Bas-bleu,  "  I  hear  you  have  said 
Intellectual  women  are  always  your  dread ; 
Now  tell  me,  dear  sir,  is  it  true  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes,"  answered  Tom,  "  very  likely  I  may 
Have  made  the  remark,  in  a  jocular  way  ; 
But  then,  on  my  honor,  I  did  n't  mean  you  ! " 


458  EPIGRAMS. 


ON   AN    ILL-READ   LAWYER. 

A   N  idle  attorney  besought  a  brother 
**•     For  something  to  read,  —  some  novel  or  other, 

That  was  really  fresh  and  new. 
"  Take  Chitty  ! "  replied  his  legal  friend, 
"  There  is  n't  a  book  that  I  could  lend 

Would  prove  more  novel  to  you ! " 


ON   A   RECENT   CLASSIC   CONTROVERSY. 

NAY,  marvel  not  to  see  these  scholars  fight, 
In  brave  disdain  of  certain  scath  and  scar ; 
'T  is  but  the  genuine  old  Hellenic  spite,  — 

"  When  Greek  meets  Greek,  then  comes  the  tug  of 


ANOTHER. 

Quoth  David  to  Daniel,  "  Why  is  it  these  scholars 
Abuse  one  another  whenever  they  speak  ?  " 

Quoth  Daniel  to  David,  "  It  nat'rally  follers 

Folks   come    to   hard   words   if    they  meddle   with 
Greek ! " 


LUCUS    A    NON. 

"\7OU  '11  oft  find  in  books,  rather  ancient  than  recent, 
•*•     A  gap  in  the  page  marked  with  " cetera  desunt" 
By  which  you  may  commonly  take  it  for  granted 
The  passage  is  wanting  without  being  wanted  ; 
And  may  borrow,  besides,  a  significant  hint 
That  dcsunt  means  simply  not  decent  to  print ! 


EPIGRAMS. 


A    CANDID    CANDIDATE.19 


459 


WHEN  John  was  contending  (though  sure  to  be 
beat) 

In  the  annual  race  for  the  Governor's  seat, 
And  a  crusty  old  fellow  remarked,  to  his  face, 
He  was  clearly  too  young  for  so  lofty  a  place,  — 
"  Perhaps  so,"  said  John  ;  "but  consider  a  minute ; 
The  objection  will  cease  by  the  time  I  am  in  it ! " 


NEMO   REPENTE   TURPISSIMUS. 

BOB  SAWYER  to  a  man  of  law 
Repeating  once  the  Roman  saw, 
"  Nemo  repente  — "  and  the  rest, 
Was  answered  thus  :  "  Well,  I  protest, 
However  classic  your  quotation, 
I  do  not  see  the  application." 
"'T  is  plain  enough,"  responded  Sawyer: 
"It  takes  three  years  to  make  a  lawyer  ! " 


TOO    CANDID    BY   HALF. 

AS  Tom  and  his  wife  were  discoursing  one  day 
Of  their  several  faults,  in  a  bantering  way, 
Said  she  :  "  Though  my  wit  you  disparage, 
I  'm  sure,  my  dear  husband,  our  friends  will  attest 
This  much,  at  the  least,  that  my  judgment  is  best." 
Quoth  Tom,  "  So  they  said  at  our  marriage  !  " 


460  EPIGRAMS. 


CONJURGIUM    NON    CONJUGIUM. 

THVlCK  leads,  it  is  known,  with  his  vixenish  wife, 
*-^   In  spite  of  their  vows,  such  a  turbulent  life, 
The  social  relation  of  Dick  and  his  mate 
Should  surely  be  written  The  Conjurgal  State  ! 


CHEAP    ENOUGH. 

HPHEY  've  a  saying  in  Italy,  pointed  and  terse, 
-*-       That  a  pretty  girl's  smiles  are  the  tears  of  the 

purse ; 
"  What  matter  ?  "  says  Charley.     "  Can  diamonds  be 

cheap  ? 
Let  lovers  be  happy,  though  purses  should  weep  ! " 


ON   AN    UGLY   PERSON    SITTING   FOR  A 
DAGUERREOTYPE. 

HERE  Nature  in  her  glass  —  the  wanton  elf — 
Sits  gravely  making  faces  at  herself ; 
And,  while  she  scans  each  clumsy  feature  o'er, 
Repeats  the  blunders  that  she  made  before ! 


ON   A   FAMOUS   WATER-SUIT. 

MY  wonder  is  really  boundless, 
That  among  the  queer  cases  we  try, 
A  land-case  should  often  be  groundless, 
And  a  water-case  always  be  ury  ! 


EPIGRAMS.  46! 


KISSING   CASUISTRY. 

WHEN  SARAH  JANE,  the  moral  Miss, 
Declares  't  is  very  wrong  to  kiss, 
I  '11  bet  a  shilling  I  see  through  it ; 
The  damsel,  fairly  understood, 
Feels  just  as  any  Christian  should,  — 
She  'd  rather  suffer  wrong  than  do  it ! 


TO   A   POETICAL   CORRESPONDENT. 

ROSE  hints  she  is  n't  one  of  those 
Who  have  the  gift  of  writing  prose ; 
But  poetry  is  une  autre  chose, 
And  quite  an  easy  thing  to  Rose  ! 
As  if  an  artist  should  decline, 
For  lack  of  skill,  to  paint  a  sign, 
But,  try  him  in  the  landscape  line, 
You  '11  find  his  genius  quite  divine  I 


ON   A   LONG-WINDED   ORATOR. 

r  I  ^HREE  Parts  compose  a  proper  speech 
•*•     (So  wise  Ouintilian's  maxims  teach), 
But  LOQUAX  never  can  get  through, 
In  his  orations,  more  than  two. 
He  does  n't  stick  at  the  "  Beginning"  ; 
His  "  Middle"  comes  as  sure  as  sinning; 
Indeed,  the  whole  one  might  commend, 
Could  he  contrive  to  make  an  "EndJ" 


462  EPIGRAMS. 


THE    LOST    CHARACTER. 

JULIA  is  much  concerned,  God  wot, 
For  the  good  name — she  has  n't  got ; 
So  mortgagors  are  often  known 
To  guard  the  soil  they  deem  their  own ; 
As  if,  forsooth,  they  did  n't  know 
The  land  was  forfeit  long  ago ! 


A    DILEMMA. 

"  V\  7HENEVER  I  marry,"  says  masculine  ANN, 

*  •     "I  must  really  insist  upon  wedding  a  man ! " 
But  what  if  the  man  (for  men  are  but  human) 
Should  be  equally  nice  about  wedding  a  woman  f 


THE    THREE    WIVES. 

A    JUBILATION. 

MY  First  was  a  lady  whose  dominant  passion 
Was  thorough  devotion  to  parties  and  fashion ; 
My  Second,  regardless  of  conjugal  duty, 
Was  only  the  worse  for  her  wonderful  beauty ; 
My  Third  wz.s  a  vixen  in  temper  and  life, 
Without  one  essential  to  make  a  good  wife. 
Jubilate  !  at  last  in  my  freedom  I  revel, 
For  I  'm  clear  of  the  World,  and  the  Flesh,  and  the 
Devil ! 


LATER  POEMS. 


LATER    POEMS. 


HERCULES    SPINNING. 

I. 

BOND  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  beauteous  Lydian  queen, 

Lo  !  Hercules  is  seen 
Spinning,  spinning  like  a  maid, 
While  aside  his  club  is  laid, 
And  the  hero  boasts  no  more 
All  his  doughty  deeds  of  yore, 
But  with  sad,  submissive  mien 
Spinning,  spinning  still  is  seen, 

Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 

Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 

II. 

Shame  !  that  for  a  woman's  whim, 
He,  so  stout  of  heart  and  limb, 
Must  his  nature  so  abuse 
Thus  his  mighty  arm  to  use,  — 

20*  J5D 


466  HERCULES  SPINNING. 

Not  the  manly  mace  to  whirl, 
But  a  tiny  spindle  twirl, 
Spinning,  spinning  like  a  girl, 
With  a  soft,  submissive  mien, 

Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 

Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 

ill. 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale,  — 

Bond  slave  no  more  ; 
Love  has  loosed  whom  Tyranny 

Basely  bound  before  ! 
The  distaff  now  is  cast  aside, 
And,  leaning  on  his  club  in  pride, 

Lo  !  Hercules  is  seen, 

In  majesty  serene, 
A  hero  sitting  by  his  bride, 

Fair  Omphale,  his  queen  ! 

IV. 

Whatever  mortals  crave, 

So  rule  the  gods  above 
That  manly  Strength  is  Beauty's  slave, 

And  Beauty  yields  to  Love. 


HASSAN  AND   THE  ANGEL.  467 


HASSAN    AND    THE    ANGEL. 

THE  Calif  Hassan,  —  so  the  tale  is  told,  — 
In  honors  opulent  and  rich  in  gold, 
One  New  Year's  Day  sat  in  a  palm-tree's  shade, 
And,  on  a  stone  that  lay  beside  him,  made 
An  inventory,  —  naming  one  by  one 
His  benefactions  ;  all  that  he  had  done 
Throughout  the  year ;  and  thus  the  items  ran  : 
"  Five  bags  of  gold  for  mosques  in  Ispahan  ; 
For  caravans  to  Mecca,  seven  more  ; 
For  amulets  to  pious  people,  four  ; 
Three  for  the  Ramazan  ;  and  two  to  pay 
The  holy  dervishes,  who  thrice  a  day 
In  prayer  besought  the  safety  of  my  soul ; 
Item,  one  loaf  of  bread,  a  weekly  dole 
To  a  poor  widow  with  a  sickly  child." 
The  Calif  read  the  reckoning  o'er,  and  smiled 
With  conscious  pleasure  at  the  vast  amount, 
When,  lo  !  a  hand  sweeps  over  the  account ! 

With  sudden  anger,  Hassan  looked  around, 
And  saw  an  angel  standing  on  the  ground, 
With  wings  of  gold,  and  robe  of  purest  white. 
"  I  am  God's  messenger,  —  employed  to  write 
Within  this  book  the  pious  deeds  of  men  ; 
I  have  revised  thy  reckoning,  —  look  again  ! " 
So  to  the  man  the  angel  spake  aloud, 
Then  slowly  vanished  in  a  rosy  cloud. 
The  Calif,  looking,  saw  upon  the  stone 
The  final  item  standing  there  alone  ! 


468      LOOKING  OUT  INTO   THE  NIGHT. 


LOOKING   OUT   INTO    THE   NIGHT. 

LOOKING  out  into  the  night, 
I  behold  in  space  afar 
Yonder  beaming,  blazing  star  ; 
And  I  marvel  at  the  might 
Of  the  Giver  of  the  rays, 
And  I  worship  as  I  gaze, 
Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  espy  two  lovers  near, 
And  their  happy  words  I  hear, 

While  their  solemn  troth  they  plight ; 
And  I  bless  the  loving  twain, 
Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  pain, — 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
Lo  !  — a  woman  passing  by, 
Glancing  round  with  anxious  eye, 

Tearful,  fearful  of  the  light ; 

And  I  think  what  might  have  been 
But  for  treachery  and  sin,  — 

Looking  out  into  the  night 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 

I  behold  a  distant  sail 

Roughly  beaten  by  the  gale 
Till  it  vanishes  from  sight ; 

And  I  ponder  on  the  strife 

Of  our  fleeting  human  life,  — 
Looking  out  into  the  night. 


A   SUMMER  SCENE.  469 

•Looking  out  into  the  night, 

I  bethink  me  of  the  rest 

And  the  rapture  of  the  blest 
In  the  land  where  all  is  light ; 

Sitting  on  the  heavenly  shore, 

Weeping  never,  —  nevermore 
"  Looking  out  into  the  night  !  " 


A   SUMMER   SCENE. 

I  SAW  you,  lately,  at  an  hour 
To  lovers  reckoned  dear 
For  tender  trysts  ;  and  this  is  what 
I  chanced  to  see  and  hear  : 

You  sat  beneath  the  Summer  moon, 

A  friend  on  either  hand, 
And  one  applauded  your  discourse, 

And  one  —  could  understand. 

You  quoted  gems  of  poesy 
By  mighty  masters  wrought ; 

And  one  remarked  the  pleasant  rhyme, 
And  one,  the  golden  thought. 

Your  smiles  (how  equally  bestowed  !) 

Upon  the  list'ners  fell  ; 
And  one  was  fain  to  praise  your  eyes, 

And  one,  to  read  them  well. 

You  jested  in  a  merry  vein, 

And,  conscious,  played  the  child ; 


470  HOW  IT  HAPPENED. 

And  one  was  moved  to  brave  retort, 
And  one,  in  silence,  smiled. 

You  spoke  of  angel-life  above 

That  evermore  endures ; 
And  one  looked  up,  with  lifted  hands, 

And  one  —  was  kissing  yours  ! 

And  then  you  laughed  the  ringing  laugh 

That  shows  a  spirit  glad  ; 
And  one,  thereat,  was  very  gay, 

And  one  was  something  sad. 

And  did  you  guess  (ah  !  need  I  ask  ?) 
While  thus  they  sat  with  you, 

That  one  was  but  a  light  gallant, 
And  one  a  lover  true  ? 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED. 

"    AH!  we  love  each  other  well, 

**•  Better  far  than  words  can  tell," 
Said  my  charmer,  "  but  in  vain 
Are  my  efforts  to  explain 
How  it  happened  !     Tell  me  now, 
Dearest,  of  the  -why  and  how  ! 
Since  the  fact  we  cannot  doubt, 
Tell  me  how  it  came  about." 
Well,  my  darling,  I  will  try 
To  explain  the  how  and  why, 
(Speaking  for  myself —  not  you  j' 
That,  of  course,  I  cannot  do.) 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED. 

Not  your  brilliant  mind  alone 
Could  have  thus  enthralled  my  own  ; 
Not  the  charm  of  every  grace 
Beaming  from  your  sunny  face  ; 
Not  your  voice  —  though  music  be 
Less  melodious  to  me  ; 
Not  your  kisses  —  sweeter  far 
Than  the  drops  of  Hybla  are  ; 
None  of  these,  from  each  apart, 
Could  have  so  enchained  my  heart ; 
Nay,  not  e'en  the  wondrous  whole 
Could  have  fixed  my  wayward  soul ; 
Had  not  love  — your  love  —  prevailed, 
All  the  rest  had  surely  failed  ! 

There  !  you  have  the  reason,  dear  ; 
Is  the  explanation  clear  ? 

Ah  !  I  own  it  seems  but  weak  ; 
Half  the  iu/i_y  is  yet  to  seek  ; 
Only  this  I  surely  know, 
Never  woman  witched  me  so ! 

Happy  let  my  charmer  be, 
Since  her  eyes  in  mine  may  see 
Flashes  of  the  hidden  fire 
(Half  devotion,  half  desire), 
And  her  ears  may  hear  the  sighs 
That  from  yearning  love  arise, 
Whispering,  in  the  fondest  tone, 
"  Take  me  !  I  am  all  your  own  ! " 


471 


472 


EX  AUDI  ANGELUS. 


EXAUDI    ANGELUS. 

HEAR  thou  my  prayer,  O  angel  kind ! 
Who  brought  my  gladdened  eyes  to  see 
Him  whom  so  long  I  yearned  to  find, 
And  gave  his  dear  heart  all  to  me  ; 
O,  guard  him  well,  that  I  may  prove 
Blest  in  my  lover  and  my  love. 

And  keep  thou  her  whose  fearful  breast 
Still  trembles  for  its  new-found  joy, 

(Knowing,  ah  me  !  but  little  rest !) 
Lest  envious  maids  or  gods  destroy 

This  wondrous  happiness  —  that  seems 

Too  bright  for  aught  save  angel  dreams. 

O,  bless  us  twain  !  —  and  kindly  teach  ; 

And  safely  guard  each  hallowed  name 
From  blighting  hint  or  blasting  speech 

To  make  our  cheeks  all  red  for  shame, 
That  blush  not  for  the  love  they  bear 
In  thy  pure  presence,  angel  fair. 

And  while,  with  lips  that  closer  cling 
In  dread  to  part,  we  say  "  Farewell !  " 

Keep  thou  this  love  a  holy  thing 
That  in  us  evermore  may  dwell, 

By  circling  hearth  or  sundering  sea, 

Where'er  our  thankful  hearts  may  be  ! 


CARL  AND  I. 


CARL  AND   I. 

HE  calls  me  beautiful ;  and  I 
Ask  of  my  glass  the  reason  why ; 

Alack  for  me  ! 

And  yet  though  little  there  I  see, 
I  must  be  beautiful,  I  trow, 
When  such  as  he  can  deem  me  so. 

He  calls  me  brilliant  ;  all  in  vain 
I  strive  the  wonder  to  explain  ; 

Alack  for  me  ! 

And  yet,  whate'er  my  fancy  be, 
Some  spark  of  wit  therein  must  glow 
When  such  as  he  can  think  it  so. 

He  calls  me  noble  ;  and  I  turn 
My  soul  within  my  soul  to  learn  ; 

Alack  for  me  ! 

I  am  not  proud  of  what  I  see  ; 
And  yet  some  goodness  there  must  grow, 
When  such  as  he  can  find  it  so. 

He  calls  me  lovely  ;  and  I  try 
To  seek  the  specious  reason  why ; 

Alack  for  me  ! 

And  yet  though  vain  my  question  be, 
I  must  be  lovely  — well  I  know  — 
When  such  as  he  can  love  me  so  I 


473 


474  THE  LOVER'S  CONFESSION. 

DO    I    LOVE    THEE  ? 

A    SONG. 

T^VO  I  love  thee  ?    Ask  the  bee 
•"-^  If  she  loves  the  flowery  lea 
Where  the  honeysuckle  blows 
And  the  fragrant  clover  grows  ? 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling  !  take  my  answer  so. 

Do  I  love  thee  ?     Ask  the  bird 
When  her  matin  song  is  heard, 
If  she  loves  the  sky  so  fair, 
Fleecy  cloud  and  liquid  air  ? 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling  !  take  my  answer  so. 

Do  I  love  thee  ?    Ask  the  flower 
If  she  loves  the  vernal  shower, 
Or  the  kisses  of  the  sun, 
Or  the  dew,  when  day  is  done  ? 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling  !  take  my  answer  so. 


THE  LOVER'S  CONFESSION. 

"  f~-*OME,  name  my  fault !  "  I  said,  "that  I 

^-'   May  mend  it."     So  I  made  reply 
To  Laura,  —  darling  of  my  heart,  — 
Whom  long,  in  vain,  by  every  art 


DE  MUSA.  475 

I  tried  to  force  to  franker  speech. 
"  Do  tell  me  plainly,  I  beseech, 
For  my  soul's  sake,  that  while  I  live 
I  may  repent  and  Heaven  forgive  !  " 
"  'T  is  luorldliness  !  "  at  last  she  said, 
And,  blushing,  drooped  her  lovely  head, 
As  if  she  feared  I  might  infer 
She  meant  forgetfulness  of  her  ! 
"  And  is  that  all?  "  I  answered.  "  Well, 
I  own  the  world's  enchanting  spell ; 
The  fault  is  one  I  cannot  hide  ; 
But  ah  !  't  is  not  for  you  to  chide ; 
Still,  dearest,  let  me  worldly  be, 
Since  you  are  '  all  the  world '  to  me !  " 


D  E    MUSA. 

"  "\  A  7RITE  a  poem  —  solemn  —  earnest  — 

»  »     Worthy  of  your  muse  !  " 
Ah  !  when  loving  lips  command  me, 

How  can  I  refuse  ? 
But  the  subject !  —  that 's  the  pother  — 

What  am  I  to  choose  ? 

War  ?     The  theme  is  something  hackneyed  ; 

Since  old  Homer's  time, 
Half  the  minstrels  —  large  and  little  — 

Have  been  making  rhyme 
With  intent  to  prove  that  murder 

(Wholesale)  is  sublime  ! 

Love  ?    A  most  delicious  topic  ; 
But  how  many  score, 


476  DE  MUSA. 

Nay,  how  many  thousand  poets 

Deal  in  Cupid's  lore, 
From  Anacreon  to  Catullus, 

Not  to  mention  Moore. 

Grief  ?  ~  Ah  !  little  joy  has  Sorrow 

In  the  mimic  art ; 
Can  the  lyre's  melodious  moaning 

Ease  the  mourner's  smart, 
Though  the  strings  were  very  fibres 

Of  the  player's  heart  ? 

Nature,  —  posies,  woods  and  waters  ? 

Everlasting  themes,  — 
Can  the  poets,  in  the  rapture 

Of  their  finest  dreams, 
Paint  the  lily  of  the  valley 

Fairer  than  she  seems  ? 

Metaphysics  ?     Quite  in  fashion,  — 

But  Apollo's  curse 
Blasts  the  syllogistic  rhymer ; 

Why  should  I  rehearse 
Kant  in  cantos,  —  or  old  Plato 

Torture  into  verse  ? 

Humor,  satire,  fun  and  fancy, 
Wit  with  wisdom  blent,  — 

These  —  to  give  my  Muse  amusement 
Heaven  has  kindly  lent ; 

Let  her  live  and  die  a-laughing  ; 
I  shall  be  content ! 


MO  THERS-IN-LA  W.  477 


MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 

IF  you  ever  should  marry,  (said  Major  McGarth, 
While  smoking  a  pipe  by  my  bachelor-hearth,,) 
If  you  ever  should  wed,  —  and  I  would  n't  employ 
A  word  to  prevent  it,  my  broth  of  a  boy,  — 
Remember  that  wedlock 's  a  company  where 
The  parties,  quite  often,  are  more  than  a  pair ; 
'T  is  a  lott'ry  in  which  you  are  certain  to  draw 
A  wife,  and,  most  likely,  a  mother-in-law  ! 

What  the  latter  may  be  all  conjecture  defies  : 
She  is  never  a  blank  ;  she  is  seldom  a  prize  ; 
Sometimes  she  is  silly  ;  sometimes  she  is  bold  ; 
Sometimes  —  rather  worse  !  —  she 's  a  virulent  scold. 
You  dreamed  of  an  angel  to  gladden  your  home, 
And  with  her  —  God  help  you  !  —  a  harpy  has  come  ; 
You  fished  for  a  wife  without  failing  or  flaw, 
And  find  you  have  netted  —  a  mothers-in-law ! 

"  Dear  Anna,"  she  says,  "  as  you  clearly  may  see, 

Has  always  been  used  to  depending  on  me  ; 

Poor    child  !  —  though    the    gentlest    that    ever    was 

known  — 

She  could  never  be  trusted  a  moment  alone  ; 
Such  sensitive  nerves,  and  such  delicate  lungs  ! " 
Cries  the  stoutest  of  dames  with  the  longest  of  tongues. 
"  Like  mother  —  like  child  ;  you  remember  the  saw  ; 
I  'm  weakly  myself,"  says  your  mother-in-law  ! 

But  your  mother-in-law,  you  discover  erelong, 
Though  feeble  in  body,  in  temper  is  strong  ; 


478  THE  POET  TO  HIS  GARRET. 

And  so  you  surrender  —  what  else  can  you  do  ? 
She  governs  your  wife,  and  your  servants,  and  you ; 
And  calls  you  a  savage,  —  the  coarsest  of  brutes,  — < 
For  trampling  the  carpet  with  mud  on  your  boots  ; 
And  vows  she  committed  a  stupid  ''''fox-paw  " 
In  rashly  becoming  your  mother-in-law  ! 

And  so  (said  the  Major)  pray,  let  me  advise 

The  carefullest  use  of  your  ears  and  your  eyes  ; 

And,  ceteris  paribus,  take  you  a  maid 

(Of  widows,  my  boy,  I  am  something  afraid  !) 

Who  gives  you  —  the  darling  !  —  her  hand  and  her  love, 

With  a  sigh  for  her  "  dear  sainted  mother  above  !  " 

From  which  the  conclusion  you  safely  may  draw, 

She  will  never  appear  as  your  mother-in-law  ! 


THE    POET    TO    HIS    GARRET. 
(FROM  B£RANGER.) 

HPHRICE   welcome   the  place   where   at   twenty   I 
-•-        sought 

A  nest  for  myself  and  my  darling  grisette  ; 
Where  I  learned  the  queer  lessons  that  Poverty  taught, 

And   with   friendship   and   love  banished  care  and 

regret. 
'T  was  here  that  we  managed  our  social  affairs, 

Unheeding  what  dunces  or  sages  might  say  ; 
How  lightly  I  bounded  up  six  pair  o'  stairs  ! 

Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 

'T  was  only  a  garret !  —  the  table  stood  here  ; 

And  there  a  flock-bed,  —  't  was  the  best  we  could  get ; 


THE  POET  TO  HIS  GARRET,  479 

And  here  on  the  plaster  in  charcoal  appear 
Three  lines  of  a  poem —  unfinished  as  yet. 

"  Come  back  to  me,  Pleasures  ! "  I  eagerly  shout ; 
"  To  keep  you  alive  in  my  juvenile  day 

How  oft  my  repeater  was  '  put  up  the  spout ! '" 
Ah !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 

My  laughing  Lisette  !  would  she  only  come  back  ; 

In  her  jaunty  straw  bonnet  how  charming  was  she! 
Full  well  I  remember  her  dexterous  knack 

Of  hanging  her  shawl  where  the  curtain  should  be  ; 
Love  !  kiss  her  silk  gown  with  your  fondest  caress  ; 

You  know  where  she  got  it,  I  venture  to  say  ; 
I  never  was  certain  who  paid  for  the  dress  ; 

Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 

One  notable  day  in  those  glorious  years, 

As  we  sat  in  the  midst  of  our  feasting  and  fun, 
A  shout  from  the  people  saluted  our  ears, 

"  Napoleon  is  victor  !  —  Marengo  is  won  !  " 
A  new  song  of  triumph  at  once  we  essayed, 

While  cannon  were  blazing  and  booming  away, 
"  The  free  soil  of  France  kings  shall  never  invade  !  " 

Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 

Away  !  —  I  must  go  lest  my  reason  should  reel ; 

For  one  of  those  days  I  would  cheerfully  give, 
With  the  pulses  of  youth  that  no  longer  I  feel, 

All  the  lingering  years  I  am  destined  to  live  ; 
The  love,  hope,  and  joy  that  at  twenty  I  had, 

To  have  them  condensed  in  one  glorious  day, 
Like  those  that  I  spent  when  a  light-hearted  lad  1 

Ah !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 


48o  SONNETS. 


SONNETS. 


SOMEWHERE. 

SOMEWHERE  —  somewhere  a  happy  clime  there  is, 
A  land  that  knows  not  unavailing  woes, 
Where  all  the  clashing  elements  of  this 

Discordant  scene  are  hushed  in  deep  repose. 
Somewhere  —  somewhere  (ah  me,  that  land  to  win  !) 

Is  some  bright  realm,  beyond  the  farthest  main, 
Where  trees  of  Knowledge  bear  no  fruit  of  sin, 

The  buds  of  Pleasure  blossom  not  in  pain. 
Somewhere  —  somewhere  an  end  of  mortal  strife 

With  our  immortal  yearnings  ;  nevermore 
The  outer  warring  with  the  inner  life 

Till  both  are  wretched.      Ah,  that  happy  shore  ! 
Where  shines  for  aye  the  soul's  refulgent  sun, 
And  life  is  love,  and  love  and  joy  are  one  ! 


CHANGE    NOT    LOSS. 

T    DEEM  to  love  and  lose  by  love's  decay 
-*-      In  either  breast,  or  Fate's  unkindly  cross, 

Is  not,  perforce,  irreparable  loss 
Unto  the  larger.     There  may  come  a  day, 

Changing  for  precious  gold  Affection's  dross, 
When  the  great  heart  that  sorely  sighed  to  say 

"  Farewell  !  "  unto  the  late-departed  guest 
(The  transient  tenant  of  an  idle  breast) 


SONNETS.  481 

Shall,  through  the  open  portal,  welcome  there 
A  worthier  than  he  who  barred  the  place 
Against  the  loitering  lord,  whose  regal  face 

And  princely  step  proclaim  the  lawful  heir 

Arrived  —  ah,  happy  day  !  —  to  fill  the  throne 
By  royal  right  divine  his  very  own  ! 


A   LA   PENS  EE. 

COME  to  me,  dearest  !     O,  I  cannot  bear 
These  barren  words  of  worship  that  to  each 

The  other  utters  !     In  the  finer  speech 
Of  soft  caresses  let  our  souls  declare 
Their  opulence  of  love  ;  for  while  instead 

We  linger  prattling,  kind  Occasion  slips, 

Leaving  to  pensive  sighs  the  pallid  lips 
That  else  for  pleasure  had  been  ruby  red. 
Thanks  !  darling,  thanks  !  Ah,  happier  than  a  king 

In  all  beatitude  of  royal  bliss 

Is  he  whose  mouth  (again  !  O  perfect  kiss  !) 
May  thus  unto  thine  own  with  rapture  cling  ; 

For  very  joy  of  love  content  to  live 

Unquestioning  if  Love  have  more  to  give  ! 


ABSENCE. 


A  BSENT  from  thee,  beloveU  I  am  pent 
**•     In  utter  solitude,  where'er  I  be  ; 
My  wonted  pleasures  give  me  small  content 
Wanting  the  highest,  — to  be  shared  by  thee. 


482  SONNETS. 

Reading, —  I  deem  I  misemploy  my  eyes, 

Save  in  the  sweet  perusal  of  thine  own  ; 
Talking, —  I  mind  me,  with  enamored  sighs, 

What  finer  use  my  moving  lips  have  known 
When  (as  some  kind  orchestral  instrument 

Takes  up  the  note  the  singer  failed  to  reach) 
Uncounted  kisses  rapturously  lent 

The  finished  meaning  to  my  halting  speech  ; 
Remembering  this,  I  fondly  yearn  for  thee, 
And  cry,  "  O  Time  !  haste  !  bring  my  love  to  me  ! " 


BIENVENUE. 

HHHRICE  welcome  day  that  ends  the  weary  night 
•*•       Of  love  in  absence.     Hush,  my  throbbing  heart  ! 

I  hear  her  step,  —  she  comes  !     Who  now  can  part 
The  happy  twain  whose  soul  and  sense  unite  ? 
O,  can  it  be?     Is  this  no  mocking  dream  ? 

Nay,  by  these  clasping  hands,  that  fervent  kiss, 

(Love's  sweetest  token  !)  and  by  this,  and  this, 
I  know  thee  for  rny  own.     Ah  !  now  I  deem 

The  gods  grow  envious  of  an  earthly  bliss 
That  dims  Elysian  raptures,  and  I  seem 

More  blest  than  blest  Endymion  ;  for  he 
Saw  not  his  love,  while  I,  with  doting  eyes, 

O  joy  ineffable  !  do  gaze  on  thee, 
Whose  circling  arms  enclose  my  Paradise  ! 


SONNETS.  483 


AQUINAS    AND    THE    BISHOP. 

T  N CREASE  of  worldly  wealth  is  not  alway 
-••      With  growth  in  grace  in  manifest  accord  ; 

So  quaint  Aquinas  hinted  to  my  lord 
The  bishop,  when,  upon  a  certain  day, 

Surprised  while  counting  o'er  his  ample  hoard 

Of  shining  ducats  in  a  coffer  stored, 
The  prelate  said,  "The  time,  you  see,  has  gone 

When  dear  old  Mother  Church  was  forced  to  say, 
(Acts  second/)  '  Gold  and  silver  have  I  none  ! ' " 

"  Ah  !  "  quoth  Aquinas,  shrewdly,  "  so  I  find  ; 
But  that,  your  Grace,  was  in  the  purer  age, 

The  very  same,  be  pleased  to  bear  in  mind, 
When  with  her  foes  brave  battle  she  could  wage, 

And  say  to  sordid  Satan,  '  Get  behind  ! '  " 


NOTES 
? 


NOTES. 


NOTE  i.     Page  97. 

The  tale  of  "Miralda"  is  based  on  a  popular  legend,  of 
which  an  excellent  prose  version  may  be  found  in  Ballou's 
History  of  Cuba. 

NOTE  2.     Page  105. 

This  piece  is  an  imitation  of  a  poem  by  Praed,  entitled 
"  My  Partner."  There  are  two  other  pieces  in  this  collection, 
which,  in  deference  to  certain  critics,  I  ought  to  mention  as 
imitations  of  the  same  author.  There  is,  indeed,  a  resem- 
blance, in  the  form  of  the  stanza  and  in  the  antithetic  style 
of  treatment,  to  several  poems  of  Praed ;  but  as  both  the 
metre  and  the  method  are  of  ancient  date,  and  are  fairly  the 
property  of  whomsoever  may  employ  them,  no  further  ac- 
knowledgment seems  necessary  than  that  which  is  contained 
in  this  note.  The  same  remark  will  apply  to  "  The  Proud 
Miss  MacBride,"  which  is  written  in  the  measure,  and  (longo 
intervallo)  after  the  manner,  of  Hood's  incomparable  "  Golden 
Legend. " 

NOTE  3.     Page  183. 

"POTTER,  the  Great  Magician,"  —  a  clever  conjurer  of  a 
former  generation,  —  is  still  vividly  remembered  by  many 
people  in  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont. 


488 


NOTES. 


NOTE  4.     Page  233. 

The  first  stanza  of  this  poem  I  must  credit  to  a  fragment  of 
an  anonymous  German  song,  which  I  found  afloat  in  some 
newspaper.  The  remaining  stanzas  are  built  upon  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  first 

NOTE  5.     Page  281. 

If  my  version  of  "The  Ugly  Aunt"  is  more  simple  in 
plot  than  the  prose  story  in  the  "  Norske  Folke-eventer,"  it 
certainly  gains  something  in  refinement  by  the  variation. 

NOTE  6.     Page  304. 

I  'm  aware  this  dainty  version 
Is  n't  quite  the  thing  to  go  forth 

For  the  Grecian's  "  suggenesthai," 
"  Ep  oikematos"  and  so  forth ; 

But  propriety  's  a  virtue 

I  'm  always  bound  to  show  forth. 

NOTE  7.     Page  312. 

The  tradition  of  the  Wandering  Jew  is  very  old  and  popu- 
lar in  every  countiy  of  Europe,  and  is  the  theme  of  many  ro- 
mances in  prose  and  verse.  The  old  Spanish  writers  make 
the  narrative  as  diabolical  and  revolting  as  possible  ;  while  the 
French  and  Flemish  authors  soften  the  legend  (as  in  the 
present  ballad)  into  a  pathetic  story  of  sin,  suffering,  and 
genuine  repentance. 

NOTE  8.     Page  338. 

This  story  is  found  in  many  modern  languages.  In  the 
present  version,  the  traveller  is  a  Frenchman  in  Holland  ;  in 
another,  he  is  an  Englishman  in  France ;  and  in  a  third,  a 
Welshman  in  some  foreign  country.  The  Welsh  story  (a 
poem,  of  which  an  anonymous  correspondent  has  sent  me  a 
translation)  is  perhaps  the  best ;  though  it  is  impossible  to 
say  which  is  the  oldest. 


NOTES.  489 

NOTE  9.     Page  373, 
"  To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  dull. " 

Pere  Bouhours  seriously  asked  "if  a  German  could  be  a 
bel  esprit"  This  concise  question  was  answered  by  Kra- 
mer, in  a  ponderous  work  entitled  Vindicia  nominis  Ger- 
manicce. 

NOTE  10.     Page  378. 

' '  In  closest  girdle,  O  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest  stepping-shoes. " 

Imitated  from  the  opening  couplet  of  Holmes's  "Terpsi- 
chore,"— 

"  In  narrowest  girdle,  0  reluctant  Muse, 
In  closest  frock,  and  Cinderella  shoes." 

NOTE  n.     Page  379. 
"  '  She  stoops  to  conquer '  in  a  '  Grecian  curve.'" 

Terence,  who  wrote  comedies  a  little  more  than  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  thus  alludes  to  this  and  a  kindred  custom  then 
prevalent  among  the  Roman  girls  :  — 

"  Virgines,  quas  matres  student 
Demissis  humeris  esse,  vincto  corpore,  ut  graciles  riant." 

The  sense  of  the  passage  may  be  given  in  English,  with 
sufficient  accuracy,  thus  :  • — • 

Maidens,  whom  fond,  maternal  care  has  graced 
With  stooping  shoulders,  and  a  cinctured  waist. 

NOTE  12.     Page  382. 
"  Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple  '  Buncombe'  made." 

Many  readers,  who  have  heard  about  "making  speeches  for 
Buncombe,"  may  not  be  aware  that  the  phrase  originated  as 


49° 


NOTES. 


follows  :  A  member  of  Congress  from  the  county  of  Bun- 
combe, North  Carolina,  while  pronouncing  a  magniloquent 
set-speech,  was  interrupted  by  a  remark  from  the  chair,  that 
"  the  seats  were  quite  vacant"  "  Never  mind,  never  mind," 
replied  the  orator,  "  I  'm  talking  for  Buncombe ! " 


NOTE  13.     Page  382. 

"  Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 
And  higher  still  in  fierce,  envenomed  hate.'1'' 

"  Sed  jurgia  prima  sonare 
Incipiunt  animis  ardentibus  ;  hasc  tuba  rixas ; 
Dein  clamore  pari  concurritur,  et  vice  teli 
Ssevit  nuda  manus." — Juv.  Sat.  xv. 

NOTE  14.     Page  385. 
"  Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came. " 

This  poem  was  written  at  the  instance  of  the  Associated 
Alumni  of  Middlebury  College,  and  spoken  before  that 
Society,  July  22,  1846. 

NOTE  15.     Page  385. 

"No  singer's  trick,  — conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough  when  importuned  to  sing. " 

The  capriciousness  of  musical  folk,  here  alluded  to,  is  by 
no  means  peculiar  to  our  times.  A  little  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  Horace  had  occasion  to  scold  the  Roman  singers 
for  the  same  fault :  — 

"Omnibus  hoc  vitium  est  cantoribus,  inter  amicos, 
Ut  nunquam  inducant  animum  cantare  rogati ; 
Injussi  nunquam  desistant."  —  SAT.  iii. 


NOTES.  491 

NOTE  1 6.     Page  402. 
"And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymley's  ghost." 

Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  the  English  author  and  wit,  lately  de- 
ceased, who,  having  speculated  in  Pennsylvania  Bonds  to  the 
damage  of  his  estate,  berated  "the  rascally  repudiators"  with 
much  spirit,  and  lamented  his  losses  in  many  excellent  jests. 

NOTE  17.     Page  402. 

"  Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose 
As  stubborn  walls  to  geographic  foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either  side. " 

"  Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.      Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one." 

Cowper, 

NOTE  1 8.     Page  404. 

"  Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 
In  vain  endeavor  to  be-1  cloud'  the  sun." 

An  allusion  to  the  come'dy  of  "The  Clouds,"  written  in 
ridicule  of  Socrates. 

NOTE  19.     Page  459. 

An  anecdote  of  the  gubernatorial  canvass  in  Vermont  in 
the  year  1859. 

Let  those  laugh  who  —  lose  ! 


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